It's Not Easy
by Emmithar
Summary: When Much disappears, Robin takes it upon himself to find out about the true nature of his friend's fate. Meanwhile, Marian faces the hangman's noose when her dealings with the outlaws is discovered, forcing Gisborne to take desperate measures.
1. A Birthday Wish

**It's Not Easy**

**By: **Emmithar

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **

Sadly I do not own anything but my own imagination. All recognizable characters are not mine. They belong to BBC and I shall be returning them (hopefully) in one piece when I have finished.

**Summary: **

When Much disappears, Robin takes it upon himself to find out what has happened. Things become even more complicated when he learns of the true nature of his friend's fate. Meanwhile, Marian faces the hangman's noose when her dealings with the outlaws is discovered, forcing Guy to turn to desperate measures to see to her safety.

**A/N: **

I am not an expert on history, so throughout the story it will be possible that I will have some inaccuracies, so feel free to point them out to me if you do happen to catch them. Thanks to all of those that are still with me, and reading still. I love reading your comments and see what you have to say. Reviews also encourage me to write more because I know there are people reading, so feel free to drop a quick review of what you think throughout the story.

Many thanks go out to **_Kegel_** for helping by betaing, as she always does. She puts up with my random insane ideas quiet often and helps to make a jumbled mess sound a little better. Make sure to drop by her profile and check out her own story in the works!

Without further ado, we are onto chapter one!

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**It's Not Easy**

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**Chapter One: **A Birthday Wish

Everyone else was still asleep. That was not too surprising; the sun had yet to even make an appearance. The smallest of fires danced within a pit in the midst of the room, the light flickering on the walls. His movements were slow, deliberate, gathering his weapons without a sound. He did not want to wake any of the others. Pulling on a hooded cloak, he hefted up his shield, silent steps taking him across the floor.

There was a way out in the back; a small hole more of the likes that was covered with a thin flap of fabric buried beneath a pile of leaves. It gave them all the ability to come and go without opening the main door. Will had dug it out some time ago, coming to the conclusion that if there was ever prying eyes about, a silent way out would be the best way to go. Much was now going to use it to leave undetected. Or so he had hoped.

There was movement near him, bringing the man to a stop. His eyes fell on the form, the one he knew to be Robin. If anyone would hear him leave it would him. And that was the last person Much wanted to know of his departure. He stood there, holding his breath, watching Robin, but the man made no indication of awakening. Only shifting in his sleep, still unaware of what was going on around him. With a sigh of relief, Much continued, climbing up the ladder and pushing his way to the outside. A few minutes spent covering the entrance once more and he was on his way.

It wasn't until he had passed the main road that he really felt comfortable. It was still considerably dark out, and without the aid of a torch it was difficult to see where he was really going. He wasn't too worried, for the field he was venturing to was easy to find, but a good walk away. The first signs of light would be venturing into the world as he arrived if he kept up at this pace. It would be the perfect time to hunt.

For weeks he and the others had sustained themselves on conies, rodents and at one point had even taken a horse that had been rendered lame after a fight. Most of it had been dried, materialized into a jerky-like quality that would last them longer. But such meat wasn't necessarily an appetizing meal, and though the others did not complain, Much knew that it was time for a change. Fresh deer meat would seem like a feast after the months of dry meat they had endured. Yet this wasn't the only reason he was making the effort.

Today was Robin's birthing day. Ever since leaving for the war they had been unable to celebrate it properly. One thing or another always occupied their minds. They had been first consumed with the greed and bloodlust of war, and once in the forest they were distracted with everyday dealings with the sheriff and some other far fetched plot that should have in one way or another failed. Whatever the case, the simple day that called for celebration always passed unnoticed, and when he later apologized to Robin for his forgetfulness the man hardly cared. Much was almost certain that he forgot that he even had a birthing day. This year he wanted to make sure that no one forgot.

He would catch a deer…one of the nice plump does perhaps. They grazed on the long grass in the earliest of mornings when the fog was still thick. He would have the time to clean it before the day got too far, but the real question came to the cooking part. More than anything he wanted it to be a surprise. If he kept his timing correct, he would have more than enough time to prepare things back at camp.

Today was their drops. The others would wonder about him for a short time, he was certain, but the peasants and villagers would be waiting. They would be expecting the food. Robin and others would not disappoint them, he knew. The drops would take most of the morning and time into the early afternoon. If Much was lucky, they would grow distracted with something else.

It would give him time to cook the meat. Not only that, but to gather the stores of wine. He had taken the liberty of helping himself to more than one flask a few days prior when they were in Nottingham, hiding them in one of their hidden locations. Surely the Innkeeper would not notice the missing stock, and the others, Robin especially, would enjoy the fresh wine with the warm meat. Much licked his lips, drawing in a deep breath. It would be perfect. They could all use a warm meal.

He hiked the bags up on his shoulder; the empty satchels would provide the perfect vessel for carrying the meat back. He could not clean the entire animal there; staying out in the open for too long was dangerous. The meadow provided no protection from passing eyes, and travelers came by often enough. Poaching was a serious crime for anyone, and even more deadly for an outlaw. Timidly he reached up, rubbing his neck at the thought of a noose around it. It wasn't something he particularly would want to do.

He pushed the thought from his head, reminding himself why he was doing this. It would all be worth it in the end. Not only that, but there was little worry for that at this time of the morning. There were very few people, guards and travelers alike, that moved through the forest at that time. Too many were fearful of the thieves that haunted the woods. He felt himself grin at the thought, walking with a more confident stride, moving across the trail, the first signs of light breaking the day. Not only that, but he could now see the edge of the meadow.

Pulling free his bow he readied some arrows, clutching them in his free hand as he crossed the last of the tree line. Now he would need patience, which was something he struggled with on a consistent basis. But this was for Robin and that made it all worth it. Settling down at the edge of the tall grasses, he readied his bow, took a breath, and began to search for the perfect target.

* * *

He was the last to wake. He had been for the last several days now. It had been a little more than a week's time since the incident that had left the man grasping for memories. So one could argue he was still recovering. Will knew that was not the case. Physically the man was fine, and to everyone, it seemed as though he had fully recovered. But Will was no fool. There was still something amiss. Something that Robin wasn't telling the others.

When he had voiced his concern to the others, they had laughed at him. They had reassured him that Robin was fine. They agreed that maybe he needed a few more days until he was himself once more, but that he was getting better. To Will…it seemed as though he was getting worse.

Normally one of the firsts to wake, Robin had recently become the last to rise. He was also eating less than the others, sometimes skipping a meal entirely. That in itself wasn't unusual. The man would often go without eating when he was stressed about a mission, or worried over some detail or another. But they had done nothing in the past few days. Some days Robin wouldn't even leave the camp, though the others hardly noticed. They would spend their own days flitting to the villages, scouring the forest, or doing whatever else they did when left to their own devices.

Will had chosen to stay behind one of the days, claiming that he needed to rest his leg. It was a lie, for it was nearly healed and no longer pained him, and at times Will even forgot of the grievous injury that had almost cost him his life. The statement, however, had perked Robin's interest, stirring up guilt inside of Will. After he confessed, he attempted to pry at the other man, to learn of what might be the issue. Robin spoke little of what had happened, and when the questions became more than he could handle, he became evasive with his answers. Finally Will had dropped the subject altogether, but the questions still lingered on his mind.

For now, he tried to push the thoughts from his head, offering instead the plate to Robin as the man moved about the fire, adding more logs to feed the flames. Robin took the plate without question, but Will didn't miss the fact that the man set it right down shortly after, not even a morsel making it to his lips.

"You should eat," he warned him.

"Later," Robin responded, glancing around the camp from where he was crouching. "It's late already, we should get a move on. The people will be expecting us."

Will wanted to argue, but knew that Robin would not fold. Not only that, but he himself had been eagerly looking forward to doing the drops. Routine was a nice thing to return to, and it was not only food they would be delivering, but small satchels of silver. It would be a wondrous feeling to see the people of the villages get some respite from the times that had been hard. Plus he was hoping the small deeds would liven up the other man. Perhaps he would begin to see the outlaw that he knew so well.

"Where's Much?"

He merely shook his head in response to Robin's question. "He was gone when I woke up; probably went to catch breakfast."

"We have plenty of food here," Robin muttered dryly, running a hand over his face. "How long has he been gone?"

"At least an hour…" Will shrugged, moving to sit on one of the beds, "perhaps more. I can't say for sure."

"We can't wait much longer. Gisborne makes his rounds in the early afternoon. We'll have to be finished by then."

"How do you know Gisborne's making rounds today?"

"I just know," he answered, moving to his feet.

Will felt another sigh coming on. This is how it had been with the other recently. There was never a direct answer, and his voice was always calm, as though he no longer cared to share any emotion. It was as though something was draining him physically without the taxing labors of work. It made him wonder if there was some sort of injury he was harboring, but even Robin knew how foolish something of the sort was. Still…he would bring the topic up with Djaq later; maybe the Saracen would be able to discover something he could not.

Robin collected the first of the bags, tossing several to John and then Allan, both men catching them easily. They had hardly paid any heed to the conversation, the pair busy instead discussing something that sounded curiously like a sort of gamble or bet. John was not one who divulged in such sport often, but Allan was quick with his words and Will could already see the other man interested in what Allan was saying.

If Djaq had heard, he could not tell, for she was gathering a pile of bags at her feet. She made no indication of having even noticed , which was troubling for Will. It made him wonder if he was simply imagining things as the others had once suggested, or if Robin had become skilled enough to hide his burdens well enough from the others.

There was not much time to worry on it, Will catching the bags as they were tossed to him. He tucked several under his one arm, grabbing some more with his good one. Time had healed most of his arm. There was still pain, and he could not rightly draw a bow without discomfort, but he tried to keep it at bay. He knew that Robin still blamed himself for the injury, and perhaps it was rightly so. There had been no ill-intent on the other's part, but it still had been his doing.

"Let's move," Robin gave the order, already taking the lead. They were headed east, most likely to Knighton first. The village was still struggling the worst, recovering from the fire and loss of population all those many months ago. In a time where everyone was struggling, a blow like that could render a village useless for years even.

Will fell into step beside Djaq, nodding to her as he slowed his pace. She followed his example, a slight expression of worry clouding her features. He quickly shook his head at her unasked question. He was fine, and once she understood he motioned to the front. Her eyes followed to where he pointed, then turned back to him.

"Robin?" she whispered.

He nodded, keeping his voice low. The last thing he wanted was for the man to overhear, and grow even more anxious at the thought of others speaking behind his back. "There's something wrong."

"Yes."

It was a simple answer, but it caught him off guard. He turned to her, a frown on his face. "He told you something?"

"No."

Another simple answer, and it was infuriating. "That doesn't mean anything."

"What it means," she told him, "is that what is bothering him is only something he can fix. Give him time, Will Scarlet. He will be well."

She spoke with such wisdom, but it did not encourage him to let go of the feelings that still harbored inside of him. How could he, when there was such worry? What could bother Robin so greatly that it would change his entire demeanor? He was determined to find out, but now was not the time to do so. Right now they were headed to Knighton, and the remainder of their day would be taken up by the drops, and the trek back to camp. Right now, their main worry was to deliver the food, without being caught by Gisborne or his men.

* * *

Taking the doe had been easy. She had been a young one, perhaps in her second or third year. She had been grazing over a crest with several other does. They were plentiful this year, revealing in the late summer season and growing strong. Much had bided his time, strung an arrow, and taken aim. It had been a solid shot, the creature dead even before she knew what had happened. The others had stampeded away even as she fell, leaving Much to be the only living thing in the meadow.

His knife was sharp, and he worked quickly in preparing the doe. He packed as much as he could into the bags he was carrying, tying them off tightly before dragging the rest of the remains with him. Even though he had chosen a doe, the animal was still large, a heavy burden, and Much knew he would not be able to carry all of it back to camp. Instead he pulled it free of the clearing, pulling it well off the traveled path and into the underbrush. Scavengers would take care of the rest before anyone was lucky enough to even find it.

Shouldering the heavy bags he now turned, heading back for the camp. It was already well into morning and by now the others would have already departed. He smiled gleefully at the thought of their expressions, of Robin's in particular as the man returned. To come home to a bountiful feast with fresh meat and strong wine. It would not be like the celebrations Robin had had before; spices and such were hard to come by living in the forest, but he was certain the man would appreciate it none the less.

Much knew that he himself would. Conies were not all that bad once gotten used to, but there was nothing like deer…or pig for that matter. But he didn't have any pig with him, and poaching deer was different from poaching pigs. Robin would garner a bad name if his men just started flitching livestock from the villages.

He pushed the thought from his head, knowing that if lingered too long he just might be enticed into doing such a thing. Robin would not be pleased if he did…and Robin should be pleased. It was his birthing day. He was grinning again, crossing an open path and heading back into the brush when he first heard it.

At first he wasn't quite sure of what it was. It could have been many of things; the forest was filled with strange sounds and even he found himself waking at night trying to sort out what he had just heard. This time could be no different, but there was something that held him there. He was listening intently when it came again, and this time he was certain. It was a cry for help.

There was no debating of what to do. Without question he turned and headed down the road. Much was careful to keep to the side, a useful tactic if one had to hide quickly. As he drew closer, and he could hear more properly, he found himself pausing. If he had to fight he could not do so with such weight holding him down. Quietly he stepped off the road, lowering the satchels to the ground. Here the weeds grew thickly, and he had no problems covering his prize as he stepped away. Now he was left with only his weapons and shield.

At the crest of the hill he could see what the commotion was. There were only three of them, promising numbers, even more so upon seeing one of them was only a small boy. He was the one shouting for help, the two other men on horseback snarling threats to the angry and weeping lad.

Still Much used caution, his heart beating in his chest as he pulled off the road, keeping to the brush. Drawing nearer he knelt down by the side of the road, listening and watching. The boy's hands were tied, a rope leading from between his wrists to the horn of the saddle on one of the creatures. They were moving at a steady pace, headed south, but the boy was not making it easy on the pair.

"I dun' wan' go!" he cried, pulling back on the rope and falling to his knees. The horse ahead of the boy jittered nervously, obviously shaken by the loud cries.

"You can't go back on your word," one of the men shouted, trying to calm the animal. The other man reached out and grasped the rope, tugging on it harshly. The boy was jerked forward, stumbling to his feet once more.

"I changed my mind," he protested once more, struggling still with the rope. Much frowned at the scene before him, realizing now what was taking place. They were kidnapping the boy…

"We'd untie you, you know, if you only promised to not run away," the second man stated quietly. "You agree to help us, and then you run. Not one to keep your word."

"This isn't worth our time," the first growled, coaxing the horse back into a trot. "Bloody bastard is going to wake the entire forest."

"It's a forest, Dax, what are you afraid of waking? Squirrels?"

"They say these woods are haunted, poached by thieves and murderers," Dax argued, his voice growing thin. He was of good size, a man that had once seen battle, perhaps. Still he seemed young, perhaps close to Robin in age, but Much could not be certain.

The other was skinnier, lacking in muscle and gangly, but he was also quite tall. There was a sneer of amusement on his face, and he reached over to give the rope another harsh tug as the boy fell to his knees once more. "Folk tales, nothing more. You really don't believe in such stories, do you?"

"'is true!" the boy cried, "Robin Hood will save me! He will! He's a hero. You'll be sorry!"

He was crying hard now, and the words came out in a jumbled mess that was hardly understandable. But the message got across, for the others were laughing. "You hear that, Dax? Some fairy is going to come out and stop us! What do you think of that?"

"I think we should be moving," Dax responded. "There's a reason for stories; they're partially true."

"Stories," the other huffed, but he turned in his saddle, riding out a ways ahead. Much drew in a breath, pulling free his sword. He wasn't going to just sit by and watch all of this happen. He had to do something.

The pair had gained a steady gait once more, the boy stumbling as he was pulled along. He had stopped his yelling for the time being, choked by his tears instead. Much turned, moving along the brush to catch up with them. As they came to the crest of the next hill he moved, stepping out in one fluid motion.

The movement startled the horses, already nervous from the earlier commotion. The creature back-peddled, rearing up with a sharp whine as the man tried to hold on. "What in the blazes?!"

"You'll go no further!" Much responded, holding his sword up high. "Let the boy go!"

He wasn't quite sure what he was trying to do; he was only one man against a couple. But there was some logic in his mind. The others were already burdened; the boy providing enough of a distraction, and Much had experience garnered from the war. He also knew this forest well, which was another advantage if he had guessed right in the fact that these strangers were from another shire. Everyone in Nottingham and the surrounding villages knew about his master. Robin Hood was no secret;, revered by friends and feared by enemies. No one that lived near Sherwood was unaware as to who the outlaw was. His point was proven in the next moment as the second man laughed, turning his horse about.

"Check it out, Dax, you were right. The fairy boy came to rescue the lad!"

"I am no fairy boy," Much retaliated. "I am one of Robin Hood's men! If you do not let the boy go…then we will have no choice…but to attack!"

"Really?" the man responded, a sly expression on his face. He glanced one way, then the other. When he turned back to face Much he held out his hands, giving a shrug. "I don't see your army anywhere."

"We have you surrounded."

"Prove it."

Much fell silent, trying to come up with what to say next. Dax sat upon his horse, the animal calmed down after the fright, the boy on his knees glancing hopefully at him. He could not let the boy down, but what was he to do?

"We don't need this trouble," Dax spoke, "take yourself home and leave us to our business."

"Kidnapping children? That's your business?"

Dax's face hardened, but it was the other man that spoke. "It's profitable," the gangly man kicked his horse, moving closer, "for our concerns, of course."

"It's revolting," Much spat, pointing with his sword. "You let him go…or…or I will."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

He said nothing in response, mainly because he failed to come up with one. The man was getting closer, and the time for action was quickly disappearing. Suddenly Much lunged forward, taking several large steps to close the gap between him and the boy. The others saw what he was about to do, but even a kick to the sides of the horse was not enough.

With a heave of the sword the blade cut through the bonds, the boy falling backwards, having pulled the rope taunt to help with the severing. Much pulled him to his feet, shoving the boy in front of him, encouraging the boy to run. There was none needed, and he was already racing away.

"Dax! You fumbling idiot! Don't just sit there, get after them!"

Sheathing his sword Much followed the boy's example. He ran. The boy had a head start, but Much was quick in catching up; long strides matched even to that of the short hurried ones, and the pounding of hooves was growing rapidly behind them.

Turning he grabbed the boy's arm, pulling him off the path. There weren't any questions asked, his arms out in front of his small frame, pushing through branches that smacked at his face. Much hurried him along before pushing him into a brush.

"Stay here," Much warned him, "whatever you do, do not move until I come back."

Breathlessly the boy nodded, Much pulling away and taking off into a new direction. The sudden change of course had slowed the two kidnappers down but only for a fraction of a second. The animals turned, the pair gave chase, which was exactly what Much wanted. He held his shield out in front of him, plowing through brush and undergrowth. Not only did it help to clear his way, but it also mimicked that of another, smaller form in front of him. Of that of a boy, perhaps…maybe even enough so that the kidnappers would not realize the boy had already departed and was hidden away safely.

Already the pair had left the road, turning onto a small foot trail that was hardly big enough for the horses. The first was reluctant, the nervous animal helping Much greatly in favor as it backtracked, stamping the ground. The second man however would not wait, forcing his horse off the path and stumbling over the uneven ground as he pressed around the first. It only encouraged the outlaw to run even faster.

All he had to do was get far enough ahead, then he could hide. Then he would wait until they passed, and backtrack. He would get the boy, and bring him back to the camp. Robin would know what to do. Of course there was the meat still. He couldn't rightly remember where he had left it at the moment, but retracing their steps shouldn't be too difficult, and the boy could even help him carry the food back to camp…

The ground disappeared from under him. He had misjudged the jump; here the ground sloped, making its way down to a ravine where a stream trickled through. With the landing his shield went flying from his hands, scattering on the ground and stirring up the fallen leaves. The momentary fall left him winded, and he was slow to pick himself up. At the same time the first of the men caught up with him.

Scrambling to his feet he reached for his sword, knowing there was no more time for running. But the man, though gangly in appearance, was no weakling and had quickly knocked the weapon from his grasp with a solid kick. Even before he could move there was a rope about his shoulders, a makeshift lasso tossed from horseback, pulled tautly over the saddle horn. With a yank it tightened about his chest, pulling him to his knees.

With grasping hands he was already pulling the rope off, determined to be free, but another rope was about him, pulling from the other direction. He found himself on the ground once more, struggling to right himself even as the first man dismounted. If he had any thoughts of escaping then, they were quickly dashed as his hands were bound, the rope chaffing his skin as it was pulled tight.

"Let me go," Much cried as the man pulled away. He glanced from the first back to where Dax still sat seated on his horse. There was a strange, forlorn expression that he held.

"You should have just gone home when you had the chance."

"Where's the boy?"

It was the other man who asked the question, his voice hard, eyes narrow as though they burned with fire.

"Let it go, Eloy; boy's long gone."

"No," Eloy shook his head, "We risked our lives to get him. I want him."

"You filled his head with muddle; like giving sweets to a babe. You risked nothing."

"I won't tell you," Much shook his head from where he sat. "I won't. You'll have to kill me first."

"We can arrange that."

"Messy business," Dax shook his head. "Not our business. We should get moving. If there's one, there's bound to be more. And when that kid does get home he'll have the entire village on our backs."

Eloy said nothing, his gaze still deadly, his face a slight shade of red. But as intimidating as it was, Dax did not back down, and finally the other nodded, moving to mount his steed. Much let out a sigh.

"Good idea then. Best that you get going. You can untie me, and we'll pretend that none of this ever happened."

"Oh no," Eloy shook his head, turning on him. "The only way you'll be going is our way. You're coming with us."

"You can't be serious," Much said with a laugh. What could they possibly want with him? But Eloy smiled as he mounted. "You…are, aren't you? Serious, I mean?"

"I told you that you should have just gone home."

**TBC**


	2. One Chance

**Many thanks out to Kegel with her help on this. She's done a lot of work! Long chapter this time, but couldn't find a better place to end it. Hope you enjoy!**

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**Chapter Two: One Chance**

By every right it was a beautiful day. The summer season was late but there was still warmth in the air. The sun was holding in the sky without the faintest trace of any clouds, acting as an ever-so-careful observer of what was taking place below. The air was filled with the aromas of festivities, as the harvest season drew nearer; more and more villagers were preparing for market, spending the last bit of their shillings on pleasantries they normally went without.

Robin weighed the bag in his hand, a smile on his face reflecting what he felt on in the inside. They would not have to wallow in guilt for spending the last of their hard earned income. The silver taken from the sheriff would be more than enough to hold them through until it was time to head to the market. With any luck the money they garnered there would be enough to last them through the autumn, and then the coming winter.

He passed the bag over to the woman just then. She was an older lady, one he had known since he was just a boy. Without hesitation she drew him into a hug, whispering quiet thanks. He returned the embrace, warning her to keep it hidden. The sheriff would no doubt come through again, but he could not take what he could not find.

There was hardly room for worry; Robin and the others had taught the villagers well, and they knew already that what was theirs could easily be lost in the next moment's time. He stayed where he was, resting against the fences as he watched the old woman depart, bending over to show the coins and satchel of food to one of her youngest grandchildren. The smile he had earlier came back at the sight, the simple knowledge that what they were doing was helping filling an empty void inside of him.

Yes…it was a beautiful day. But why was it that he could not even bring himself to enjoy it? The pleasure that had filled him had only been momentary, fleeting away with the wind as another breeze came. He turned his head to the sun, letting the rays fall on his upturned face, as if hoping the warm rays could chase away the chill that rested inside.

He had told himself that he would get better with time. Told himself that he would forget. And the harder he tried…the more it clung to his memory. He had seen Marian only once since leaving Nottingham that day. Only once had he mustered up the courage to see her. To try and convince her to leave, just one last time. She didn't have to stay in the forest; she could return, to her father. To wherever that might be. Even that would have been a better fate…

Still she had refused, both angering and upsetting him. It was a deep, troubling sensation he had never before felt. It was difficult to describe, but it felt as though it was slowly eating away at him. At times he wished that he was simply alone, so that way he could let his emotions go. So that he could cry until he could do so no more, to curse and spit at the ground that bore his weight but offered no help in shouldering his heavy burden. Never before had he thought that words could hurt so much.

He started at the touch, putting forth a false guise as the man watched him. Turning he leaned against the fence, crossing his arms as he watched the rest of the village. There were others, accepting the small purses handed out by his men, embraces and words of well wishes being traded. He gave another smile.

"This will do them good."

"Yes," Will answered. The man had taken up a stance near him, watching as he did, and for a time there was silence between them. Out of everyone Will made him nervous. The man was smart, and for some irritating reason Will had turned his efforts into scrutinizing his each and every move. Robin felt more hounded than ever as of late, despite the fact Will had yet to say a single word to him. It would only be a matter of time before the other really pressed him, and Robin was afraid of when that time would come. Already he had shown weakness in front of Will, in the time when he had needed to be strong the most. He could not afford to break once more. Not over something as trivial as this. It was merely one woman…and yet…she felt as though she was the entire world. How could anyone understand that when he couldn't even explain it?

"We should get moving. It's starting to get late."

Robin could almost feel relief. He was afraid the other was going to prod at him again. He couldn't just very well up and leave, knowing that would garner the attention of the others, but neither did he want to stay and be interrogated. Instead he took the opportunity at Will's suggestion to move.

"We have two more villages to make," he told the man, tossing him another satchel. Will caught it with ease, swinging the bag over his shoulder.

"Nottingham will be the last then?"

Robin found himself slowed by the words, could feel the blood rush from his face, leaving behind skin that was even cold to his own touch. Nottingham…he didn't want to go there. At the moment there were still too many grievous thoughts. But neither could he avoid it altogether. The people there would be expecting them. What would they say when Robin Hood failed to bring them any shares?

"Robin?"

He found himself nodding, regaining some of his composure. Already his mind was working out a plan, and he kept his voice from changing, lest it betray his true feelings. "We'll split up; you and John head to Nottingham, the others and I will head to Clun."

"Split up?"

"You were right, it is getting late. This way we'll finish sooner. We can meet back at camp."

Will was silent for a moment, but he nodded as if seeing the logic behind the idea, even if he didn't necessarily agree with it. "Alright…"

Even as he turned to leave, Robin found himself calling out to him to stay. At first his idea had been to send the man, simply to escape the silent questions that came from in the form of glances. A respite, even for a few hours, would have been welcomed, but a new thought had entered his mind. Sending Will to Nottingham may encourage the man to seek out Marian. If he knew of her promise…what would Will say to him? How deeply would he chastise the former crusader for falling so low over something so petty?

"Send Allan and John instead. I don't want you out alone yet."

"I've been out before, plenty of times," Will argued.

"Not to Nottingham."

"You left me to my own devices to get in and out of the castle, and to find the cart, not to mention. Or have you forgotten?"

No, he hadn't forgotten. And neither was the man's independence in question. All Robin cared about was keeping him away from Nottingham. At least for the time being. He could not prevent it forever, but if he could stop it for just a small time, until he got his senses back in order, all would be well.

"Will…just do as I say," Robin answered firmly, his voice softening. "Please. Do not make me worry about you."

He expected the other to argue, but nothing came. Only a nod and Will turned, carrying out the order without further protest. Robin rubbed a hand along his face, trying to banish the thoughts that refused to let him go. Things would get easier…that was what he had been reminding himself. They would get easier to bear…all he had to do was stay strong until then.

It was a charade that could not last forever. Will already knew that something was amiss, and with no doubt the others would follow. He had to get his priorities straightened out before then.

* * *

He had a lot of stamina. It came from the long days during the war; from the nights in the forest he had spent defying one insane stunt after another. When it came down to it, there was no question about it. He was strong…

But jogging behind a horse the entire day was not easy. He could have nearly cried in relief when the pace finally slowed. How far they had gone Much had no idea; they were well out of Sherwood now, but not so far that he could no longer see the forest. The men put together a makeshift camp, lighting a small fire. Eloy took the liberty of moving the rope from the saddle horn to a nearby tree, securing it firmly. Not that the man had to worry about the outlaw escaping any time soon. Much was too tired to even move let alone try and escape.

He pressed his bound hands against his eyes, as if the simple motion would banish the sheer fatigue that had built up. A few times he had tried to call out for help, but soon his breath had become so ragged that he could barely rasp let alone yell. Now his throat was dry, his belly empty, and he was so sore from the constant motion that he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do first. Cry, sleep…or eat.

"That smells really good," Much muttered, lifting his head. Whatever they were cooking was tantalizing, his stomach growling in protest as he realized an entire day had passed without any food.

"Does it now?" Eloy taunted from where he lay. He was resting easily on a bedroll, tending to the meat that was cooking over the fire. "Shame that you won't be getting any. You see, there's only enough for two, and we need to keep up our strength."

"That's not fair."

"You let our boy escape," Eloy pointed out. "That wasn't really fair either, if you think about it."

"That…that was different. You cannot just kidnap a boy."

"He agreed to come with us at first. Besides, who are you to say any different? Are you the King of England now?"

"No," Much raised his chin defiantly, "but I've met him."

"Well good for you. What do want? Some honors? A ballad written about you? No one cares."

"Enough, Eloy," Dax broke into the conversation.

"Do you have any idea how much money he cost us today?"

"Nothing," Dax pointed out. The man was tending to his horse, but he stopped then to glance his way. "It's not like we have to pay anyone anything."

"Alfred is paying top price for children; even more so for boys. No one else is offering that much. What do you think he'll say when we bring this back instead?" he motioned angrily towards the outlaw.

"What he always says. He's never happy with what we bring back. You don't like it, find another profession."

"That means I'd actually have to work."

"Is that a foreign concept for you?" Much wondered, earning a growl from the other man.

"You stay out of this; it does not concern you."

"Does not concern me?" he cried. "You…you kidnapped me! It does concern me."

"He has a point there," Dax agreed.

"At least we all agree," Much nodded, watching as Eloy took a bite of the cooked meat. "That still smells really good…if you wouldn't mind…just a little?"

A piece of bread was pressed into his hands as Dax walked by, the man hardly looking in his direction. Eloy saw the motion, the man sitting up with a scowl. "What are you doing? Did you forget he let our money source go? Now you're going to waste our food on him?"

"It's my share," Dax argued bitterly. "Alfred wants strong workers; how happy do you think he'll be if we drag in a half-dead man? You think we'd get anything then?"

Eloy scowled once more, but said nothing as he took another bite. Much glanced down to the bread in his hands, then back up at the pair. "Actually…I would rather have some of what he's having."

"Bread," Dax told him sternly. "Or nothing at all. The choice is yours."

"Well that seems hardly fair," he grumbled, taking a large bite of the bread. It was dry, sucking what little moisture he had left in his mouth away. He finished chewing before taking another bite, making sure to display his irritation, but the other men hardly seemed to notice. With a sigh he swallowed, finishing the last bit of bread, thankful for the fact that the bread was soft. Still, it did not compare to the tantalizing aroma of the meat. How he loved meat…

At the thought his expression fell. The deer meat he had worked so tediously to get was still in the forest. By now some creature had probably found it, filled its belly with his food. The food for Robin. Wasn't much of a celebration for Robin…surely none of the others would remember. They never had.

What would he say, Much wondered, when the man found out he was gone? Robin would surely look for him, but would he know where? He had not told anyone of his plans, which had seemed like a good idea then. Secrets, after all, worked out much better if you kept them to yourself. Now it seemed like it wasn't all that smart; would they even suspect something had gone amiss? If they did, following the road out of Sherwood wasn't something they would do.

What if…what if Robin thought the sheriff had captured him? Then he would head to Nottingham; he would head there to save him. But Much would not be there. Then what would happen? The sheriff would catch him…and Robin would hang…

"I have to go," Much spoke up suddenly, looking at the pair. Their light talk had cut off as they stared at him, strange expressions on their faces. All of the sudden they burst out laughing, as though he had spouted off a joke.

"I'm being serious!"

"My friend, I think you have the concept of this whole kidnapping business backwards. It is we who tell you where you go. Not the other way around."

"The sheriff," Much breathed. "I'm an outlaw; he'll pay good money if you take me there. He always likes hanging an outlaw after all…"

"To the gallows?" Dax wondered, "I don't know if that is bravery or insanity talking there."

"I won't hang," Much shook his head. He had to be in Nottingham, that's where Robin would go. Robin would find him there, would rescue him. He knew that for certain.

"We would," Eloy grinned at him, still thoroughly enjoying the conversation. "We're not exactly what you would call welcomed among many parts of England. And the Sheriff of Nottingham is well known for his…efforts."

"Then help me stop him. I know others that fight against him. If you do not like him, then you can help…" Much trailed off with a frown. Robin was always so much better at these kind of things. Robin could make anyone trust him…somehow he didn't sound as convincing. It was proven as the other men laughed.

"An enticing offer. But we prefer money. Besides…I'm sure you'll enjoy our little trip. You'll be able to see the countryside, meet new people. Doesn't that sound exciting?" Eloy had slipped into a mocking voice by now, as if taunting a child.

"I prefer it here. The scenery is rather lovely. I could see more of it, if you let me go," he emphasized, pulling on the rope that bound him still. There was a little bit of give, something that was rather encouraging. If he could wait until they were asleep…

"You'll see plenty," Eloy continued as though he had never heard. "Much better than here, I assure you. It is really quite beautiful…if you survive, that is."

"Survive?"

There was a hint of worry in his voice now. Up until now no such thing had even been mentioned. He had simply assumed they wanted him alive. Alive was a good thing. A very good thing. But this new talk had him clearly worried.

"Some of the path can be treacherous; people die all the time. You don't have anything to worry about though."

"I don't?"

"Of course not. If we run into any trouble, you'll be the first to go. Think of it as one last heroic act before you die."

He frowned. "Funny…very funny."

"It's only dangerous in the winter, when the storms come. We'll be fine." Dax broke in.

"Take away all the fun," Eloy snorted, stretching out on his bed.

"Just go to sleep; when we're able to see the blasted road in front of us we'll be moving again."

"Where are we going?" Much wondered, the curiosity tugging at his mind.

"You don't need to know."

"If I am going…then I want to know. I have a right to know."

"And I will gag you if you do not quiet down," Dax warned, his voice growing hard. "That goes for the both of you."

Much fell silent, as Eloy did, which was surprising. It was clear talk was over for the night, and Much had failed to learn anything of use. Not that it would matter. He gave the rope another tug, smiling at the slack he still obtained. This was not the first time he had been bound, and it was only with simple ropes instead of shackles. The others were not very bright if they felt this would hold him through the night. He smiled, the idea coming to him now; he would return to camp...tonight.

* * *

He had to be quick to keep up with the other. John's long strides carried him on the path with little resistance, making it a difficult feat to keep pace. But he wasn't one to really complain; he too was quick on his feet, and could cover a good deal of distance on his own. When he was in the mood, of course.

They had left camp shortly before noon, flitting from one village to the next before Robin had given the order to split into two. He had followed John to Nottingham, a careful eye out for guards while delivering the goods to the people who were so desperately seeking them. It felt good, as much as it was frustrating, to part with it all.

"All I'm saying," Allan breathed, catching up with the other, "is that it was a lot of money to give away. If we give them that much now…they'll just keep wanting more."

"Then we give them more."

"Well…yeah," Allan nodded, recognizing the logic in that statement. "But we would have to get more first…"

"Then we get more."

"Not being funny, but it's not that easy."

"Not easy for you to give away is what you mean."

He bit his lip, a scowl emerging as he slowed. Okay…so he liked having a bit of money in his pocket. Who could blame him? Years he had spent being a thief, quite an expert one at that. He had lived on his own, taking only for himself. His one flaw was trying to poach that deer. Then of course he tried taking a farmer's pig…that hadn't gone over so well either. Then he had lied about who he was…that definitely didn't end well.

Though he was starting to tire of this life, there wasn't much he could do. One could argue he was still here because Robin had saved his life. But one could also argue that score was squared; he had saved Robin's life as well. Then he had abandoned him…and that hadn't turned out very well either. He had almost burned to death inside an old mill as result.

It didn't matter now; he couldn't go back to his old life. He was an outlaw now, branded by his simple presence with Robin. Before he had been a nameless thief, someone who was more of an irritant than a real threat. But being with Robin he had crossed the sheriff and Gisborne one too many times. If he was ever caught in any of the towns his fate would not be pleasant. Even more so with the knowledge if he did leave the others, there would be no one that would come for him.

He shook his head, hurrying up the hill after John. The man had already disappeared, keenly intent on making it back to camp. It would be nice, he supposed, but the worry was still growing at him. Robin would never let him keep his share of the spoils, even if he stole it on his own accord. The thought brought him to another stop, a smile brightening his face.

Robin couldn't stop him…if Robin did not know. And what harm could it cause? Whatever loot they garnered together would go to the people, but in his own time, the trinkets he collected there would be his own. Enough to spend to satisfy himself, and perhaps he could even find a place to store a larger share. Make up enough and head to another shire to settle. Start a new life…

With the new idea forming in his head he ran the last of the length. The day was passing from afternoon to evening, bursts of sunlight flitting through the trees. Soon the days would start growing shorter, and the nights would creep up on them earlier. Allan wasn't too certain on how eager he was to face yet another winter in the forest. At times it got cold enough that it felt as though he was frozen to the very core. Although with their new camp, he had to wonder if it would be any different.

At any rate, he was correct in his earlier speculations. They were the last to return to camp. Of course Nottingham was further away than Clun, and there had been only two to their three. Nottingham was also larger…it was no wonder Robin and the others had finished so quickly. He forced on a smile, coming to a stop as he joined the group, hands resting on his hips.

"So lads, what did we miss?"

There was no immediate response, causing Allan to look from one to the other. There was a mixture of worry, concern, and perhaps even confusion. Quickly he turned to glance behind him, wondering if their odd expressions was from something that had maybe followed him. But there was nothing but the forest that surrounded them, and he turned back with a shrug.

"What?"

"When you were in Nottingham, did you hear anything?" Robin asked him quietly.

It was a strange question. He had heard many things; Nottingham wasn't exactly the quietest place to be. Yet the look on Robin's face told him it was no joke. He bit his lip, trying to think over what he had seen or heard. Nothing, even now that he was thinking over it, seemed to be out of place. Finally he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders when he couldn't come up with anything.

Robin turned to look at John then, the man shaking his head in a similar fashion. Allan could only frown, a hand scratching the back of his head. "Did I miss something?"

"Much." It was the only response he got.

"Not being funny, but that doesn't even make sense."

"He was gone this morning," Will filled him in.

It caused him to shrug. That he already knew. It wasn't anything that was strange either. What he couldn't figure out was why everyone was making such a big deal about it.

"He hasn't returned."

"Oh…"

Now he understood why everyone was worried. It was strange for him to be gone so long. But not entirely unheard of. He himself had been gone for such spans of time. The mere thought of it was making him wonder.

"How do you know he didn't come back? I mean…we were all gone. He could have come back anytime during the day."

"We already thought of that," Robin's voice was quiet, a strange calmness to it.

"So it's possible then," Allan shrugged. "He probably forgot we were doing our drops today. Went off to do some hunting or whatever, remembered when he came back. Then he went to find us. Honestly now, he may even be on his way back right now."

It seemed likely, even plausible. Sherwood was a big forest after all, it was easy to get lost, or fall behind. Or miss one another entirely. There was still a good share of daylight left. No real need to worry until the sun went down, right?

"The problem is, it seems as though no one has been here," Robin indicated behind them to where the camp stood. "Fire is cold, stores are locked…Much would have at least taken something to eat…all the food is untouched."

"Alright," Allan admitted, knowing that it was now starting to sound weird. "You thinkin' the sheriff got him?"

It was another possibility, one that was quite grim. If that was the case, there was no telling what had befallen the man. If Much was in Nottingham, there was no telling for how long he had been there, or all that had been done to him. The sheriff was cruel in his games, the painful memory of his own brother's fate coming back to light in his memory.

But Robin was shaking his head, letting out a pained sigh. "If the sheriff has him…if…surely he would want us all to know. He would use him as a lure, entice us to come. He would not just settle for one of us."

"Robin," Djaq spoke his name quietly, true emotion in her eyes. "What if you are wrong?"

The man was silent, his eyes mirroring the same emotion that Djaq held. Finally he spoke, but what he said was not a pleasant thing to hear. "Then he dies."

"We go," John told him.

Even Allan was ready to agree, despite the fact he had just walked back from the very town. They had done the same for others, and would continue to do so no matter what the cost might be. It was one of the very reasons that prompted Allan to stay with the others; the fact you always had someone to watch your back.

"What if I am right?" Robin spoke again, pausing for a moment. "What if he isn't in Nottingham?"

"Then the sheriff isn't expecting us, we get in and out easily, return to camp to find him here," Allan said with a shrug.

"He left this morning, before anyone else was awake. He didn't take much with him, so he wasn't expecting to be gone long. My guess is that he went hunting, like Will suggested earlier this morning."

"You think he got lost?" Allan laughed, but quieted when no one else saw the humor in the comment.

"That," Robin nodded, "or hurt."

"Or captured," Djaq added quietly. "We cannot hear every time someone is taken."

He nodded, but said nothing else, the emotion clear as he faced this dilemma. Allan knew what Djaq said was true. While he and John had heard of nothing while in Nottingham, that did not mean it that Much was not there. But if Robin was right, and Much was hurt somewhere in the forest, heading to Nottingham would do no one any good.

"Look," Allan breathed, catching everyone's attention. "Why don't we split up? We'll head back to Nottingham, the rest of you can search the forest."

"It could work," Djaq agreed, turning to look at the others. But Robin was shaking his head.

"No…stay here, in case he returns; I'm going to scout the area. If I don't find anything…we'll head to Nottingham. The sheriff won't proceed with any hangings until it's light. That will still give us time to get there. I will be back by nightfall."

"I'm coming," Will announced as the man turned to leave. Allan watched him pause, expecting Robin to disagree like the man often did. So it was a surprise to actually see him nod.

"Alright. The rest of you stay here, we'll return shortly, with any hope."

He hated to admit it, but the more time that went on, the more he began to worry. Part of him was glad to see the two go, knowing that Robin would not easily miss anything. Another part worried what would come about when they did return. Nottingham was where everyone took anyone who was in trouble with the law. And one couldn't be in more trouble with the law than an outlaw. That made him worry even more so; he couldn't help but feel they should be headed for the town now.

"Do not worry, it will be well," Djaq told him quietly. He gave her in return his best grin, one that was cheeky and quite known with the ladies. It was his style to shrug off such things. Even though he would be the first to admit that Much wasn't his favorite person to live with, the man was part of their group. He was a part of their family.

* * *

Pretending to sleep had been easy. The ground was hard and it provided no comfort, the cold soil and bits of grass rubbing against his face every time he moved. Curled up in a ball he listened with his ears, knowing that if he tried to depart too soon the luck would not be in his favor. The crackling of the fire had tampered off, the bickering of the horses subsiding, as the animals busied themselves with sweet tufts of grass instead, were the only sounds occupying the night.

He rolled then, becoming even more entangled in the wretched rope, but hardly caring as his eyes searched out in the darkness for the two companions that slept not too far away. Neither of them had taken any heed to his movements, which was a promising thing indeed. Easing himself up into a sitting position, Much set to work.

The rope was of good quality; far better than the ones Robin had managed to come across. It was stronger, unwilling to be cut by the pebbles that were too small, and unfazed by the fierce gnawing of the teeth. With a curse Much flexed his wrists, rewarded with the smallest of movements. By now his wrists were already sore, the tender flesh beneath the bonds red from the consistent rubbing. But he was too far determined to be stalled by something so trivial.

He needed to get out of here; tonight. He needed to get back to the forest, back to camp before Robin headed to Nottingham. He ground his teeth together, stifling a yelp as he tried to pull his hands apart. There was a little more give now; there was also some blood, he was quite certain. He could feel the warmth beading on his skin, just under the ropes. Curse it all, he was never going to make it like this.

He pressed his forehead against his hands, trying to come up with an idea. Any idea that would help. He was angry, and bitter as his eyes wandered the campsite. If only the man had left him bound to the horse then he could ride out of here. At least he had been smart in that respect. And perhaps both had been smarter than first seemed. The rope was not as easily broken as Much had first presumed. Surely they knew this too, and had used it to their favor.

He pulled the rope again, a sigh escaping him as no real result came. Trees…how useless they were. You couldn't very well ride one in escape like you could the horse. Perhaps if Will had been here he could have cut down the tree…

The idea struck him then, as peculiar as it was, but it was an inkling of knowledge that he just had to discover. Stealthily he moved to his feet, using the rope as a guide and pulling himself towards the tree where Eloy had bound him earlier. Falling to his knees he checked his surroundings to make certain he had not caught the attention of the others. When no movement came, he turned his attention back to the tree.

Cautiously he lifted his bound hands, fingers playing over the rope. The knot about his hands was strong, having been secured several times with several lengths, the very reason he could not break through it now. But it seemed as though Eloy had been preoccupied with other trivial matters when he had tied this end to the tree. Much might not be able to cut down the tree…but he could pull free the knot that bound him here…

It still was no easy task. The knot was difficult to see in the dark, and though he had limited movement with his hands, it wasn't entirely enough to work comfortably with. It took time, time he did not want to waste but he had little choice in the matter. When the first length came free he could not help but let out a successful cry.

He muffled it a moment later, turning back to see if his momentarily lapse in judgment had cost him. But the two men slept on, unaware of the break for freedom that was about to occur. Much turned back to his work quickly, freeing the last length with a proud smile. He was a free man now.

The rope…now that would be a nuisance. With his luck he would trip over it, or the one end would become stuck on something. There wasn't anything he could do until he returned to camp however. Slowly he wrapped the other end about his wrists, following down to near his elbows to get the last of it off the ground. In the end it both looked and felt as though it was more restricted now than before. He frowned at the thought, wondering if that made him a kidnapper now, but he didn't believe that someone could technically kidnap themselves. It was an interesting thought, however.

Awkwardly he moved to his feet, a bit of a struggle with his arms bound as they were. Once certain of his balance he began to move, pausing as he neared the horses. He would return quicker if he took one. Seeing all the others had put him through, surely they would not mind if he did so. It was risky…but the thought of Robin possibly risking his own life sneaking into Nottingham crept into his mind. No…he had to return as soon as possible.

Mind made up, he moved towards the two creatures. They both watched him warily as he came, ears twitching as he spoke quiet, and hopefully, calm words. The tips of his fingers brushed one's fur, just beneath his eyes and the horse snorted. Hushing him quickly he turned again, to check on the sleeping pair. There was another sigh of relief, convinced now the two would sleep through almost anything.

Freeing the horse he turned the creature around as best he could. Mounting would be the most difficult part, and he reached up, feeling blindly for the horn that would help him. No sooner had he found it that he heard the quiet muttering behind him. Turning quickly he paused, eyes meeting those of Dax, who was blinking wearily in the dim light of the fire. For a moment they just stared, Much hoping that the man would either not see him, or that the man would not give him away.

His judgment was wrong. Dax was screaming, a string of words that Much was quite certain he had never heard before. But he didn't need to know what they meant to understand the meaning. Grasping the horn as best as he could with his bound hands, he hefted himself up. Startled by the commotion the horse took off into a gallop, leaving him in a rather awkward position.

It was all Much could do to hang on. The jolting movements as the horse ran threatened to throw him, Much only halfway in the saddle. He couldn't properly hold on, nor steer, and the animal was running blindly…away from Sherwood of all things. Hooves beneath him tore up the tender ground, dirt flying up into his eyes as the saddle slowly began to slip from his hands. He wouldn't be able to hold on for long.

He tried to pull himself up, trying to push off the ground with his feet as opposed to just letting them drag. The rope he bound about his arms earlier was starting to come loose, the end beginning to trail in the wind. Much tightened his grip, lifting himself up a few inches before losing them once more as the horse jumped over some brush. His feet slipped, dragging on the ground, being missed by the hooves only barely. If he fell now he surely would be trampled.

The thought only encouraged him to hang on, now accepting the fact that he was being dragged along. At least he was still getting away. It wasn't quite how he had imagined, or really planned it, but wasn't that all that mattered in the end?

The hope that had blossomed didn't stay with him long. The rope had worked its way loose even further. It was at that moment it reached the ground, dragging alongside the creature in the dirt. Then it happened, as the rope became entangled in the moving limbs.

With a shriek the horse stumbled, powerful strong back legs pulling the rope taunt. In a moment's time Much felt the horn slip out of his feeble grasp, fingers reaching out desperately to grab a hold of anything that might save him as he fell. The last thing he saw was a mixture of the ground racing towards him, and the pounding of hooves.

**TBC**


	3. Lost

**Apologies for the delay; between work and a minor writer's block I had a bit of a tough time with this chapter. Many thanks goes out to Kegel for her help and encouragement with this, as well as a beta. **

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**Chapter Three: Lost**

He had calmed down some. Maybe not entirely, but at least it didn't feel as though his heart was about to pounce from his chest anymore. And he could properly breathe once again. That was another good thing. He had also avoided being trampled. Yet another good thing…a very good thing.

The hand that was on his chin left, moving back down to his ankle, touching the purpling flesh lightly. Much let out a hiss at the contact, pulling away. Dax's only response was to stand, shaking his head. There was a scowl on his face, deep lines creasing his flesh as he turned to the other man that stood near their side.

"How many times have I told you we needed those shackles?"

"You're blaming this on me?" Eloy asked incredulously. The man had said little to nothing since the pair had caught up with him. Dax had stayed with Much while Eloy had ridden after the retreating horse, returning with the calmed creature only moments later.

"You were confident that we did not need any, despite the fact that I urged you otherwise."

"I did not think he would run."

"Of course he would," Dax returned angrily. "What did you except? Did you think that he was going to be a good little prisoner and not try anything?"

Eloy still had a scowl on his face, hoisting himself into his saddle. "Whatever the case, we need to be moving. Surely that racket's garnered some sort of attention by now, and I don't want to be around when company comes."

"You could just let me go," Much offered. "This would solve many of your problems."

It was worth a shot, but even he knew it was a failed attempt as Dax pulled him to his feet. His hands were still bound with the same rope as before, the end trailing on the ground under his feet. Pulling a knife free, Dax cut the end loose, returning his hold back to his arm. It was well needed, because Much could not walk without pain. His ankle had taken the brunt of the fall, and though he doubted it was broken, it certainly was not in the best of shape.

"I would be one to agree, he can't even walk," Eloy snorted, watching the pair. "We're never going to get anywhere at this rate. We'd not only run out of supplies, but we'll be found out. Then who will be swinging in the gallows? Hmm?"

"He's not walking," Dax responded. He had helped Much back to the horse, the white stallion he had tried to take earlier that night.

"You can't be serious," the other man laughed. "That's how he nearly got away last time. Now you're putting him up there again?"

Much was wondering the same, hardly protesting as he was forced into the saddle. Being atop of the horse was already a head start. All he would need to do was ride away once given the chance. But those hopes were soon dashed, a new rope appearing that secured his bound hands to the horn of the saddle. His legs too followed in similar fashion, being secured to the stirrups. With the reigns pulled over the horses' head so they hung free, there would be no way for Much to guide the horse if he did manage to get away.

"So that's it," Eloy pressed again when Dax failed to answer. "He gets to ride…and you're going to walk."

"I don't see any other option," the man finally argued, grabbing the reigns as he started down the road. "We need to be there by the end of the week, so I suggest we start moving."

The end of the week? Much took a glance behind him as they started to move, glimpsing the trees that could still be seen clustered in the distance. They were already a full day away from camp, and wherever they were going would bring him even further away. What would happen to him then? What would happen to the others?

"Please," he turned back around, glancing at the man who led the horse. "Please, you must let me go. There's something I must do. My friends…they may be in trouble."

"Then that trouble is their own."

"You don't understand," he pleaded, "it is because of me they would be in trouble. They'll come looking for me."

"Trust me, they'll forget about you."

It was a passing phrase, something that was said without malevolence or mockery, but it still stung.

"That's not true."

"It happens," Dax's voice was stern. "I've seen it enough times to know better. People worry at first, but soon they forget. Too many other things to worry over. That's why my brother and I have been able to do this for so long."

"Your brother?"

He glanced from one to the other, Eloy well enough ahead, his steed moving at a fast trot. Dax could not keep up with the same demanding pace, holding steady at a slow gait, allowing the gap between them to widen. "By birth, not by choice. Eloy has his moments, but he can be a good man."

"Funny, somehow I think we do not mean the same when we say good," Much muttered under his breath. "First you kidnap a boy. Not good. Then you kidnap me. Also not good. You've tied me up, and now you plan to sell me to someone. No good there either."

"Not just anyone," Dax corrected him, ignoring the last comment. "His name is Alfred…he's a good man."

"Your good or my good?" Much wondered, causing the other man to laugh.

"He's patient, and fair. He'll give you a place to live, and make sure that you are fed. All you have to do is work in return. You help him and he helps you."

"I already have a place to live. And I can feed myself. You see, all my problems are solved. You can let me go now."

"Sorry friend, it does not work like that."

"I am not your friend," Much stressed, shifting as much as he could in the saddle. "Friends do not tie one another up."

"It will be a long enough ride; try to not cause more trouble than needed," Dax told him, patting the horse's flank gently. "Skye's nervous in strange surroundings, but he'll calm when we get closer to home."

Home? Much found himself swallowing, knowing that wherever they were going was no home of his. "Where are we going?"

There was no response, bringing him worry that he would never find out. At least until they arrived; surely he would know then, but what good would that do anyone?

"It is only fair that you tell me," Much continued, "since I obviously have no choice in the matter. I would tell you where I would be taking you if I was taking you anywhere."

"This is your logic?" Dax wondered.

He nodded, giving a little shrug at the same time as the man looked back at him. "It makes sense, wouldn't you agree?"

"You really want to know then?"

"Better than sitting here brooding about it for days, don't you think?"

The other man let out a grin, turning back to face the front as he led them further along the road. "It is not a very big place; a quiet, small shire that's settled amongst the bigger ones. There's a forest there, a river that runs nearby. We'll need to take this road south for a while, then head to our west. Alfred owns the lands near the village of Sherwell; that is where you'll be working."

"Sounds lovely," Much answered dryly. A place just like the one they were leaving now. It would be easier if they just stayed here. But the two would not listen; they hadn't done so before, why would they now? He let out a sigh, shifting in the saddle. He could not even properly support himself since being restrained in such a manner. He was going to be very sore by the time they stopped…

"You'll grow used to it," Dax encouraged him, "everyone does."

"Somehow I have a hard time believing you. And you're wrong," Much added.

Dax turned to look at him with a questioning expression. Much held his head higher, trying to muster up more confidence than he held at the current moment. "They won't forget about me."

* * *

Night had fallen unexpectedly, coming much sooner than he had both wanted and anticipated. He should have been prepared, having the knowledge beforehand that they wouldn't have much time to search. It was a most ridiculous notion, because the truth was that he hadn't any real idea of what he was looking for, or what he was hoping to find.

For a time he and Will had traded off calling, waiting and listening in return as if hoping the trees would answer as their voices melded together on the wind. They had gone to all the usual places first, following the runs they trekked from one part of the forest to the other, but even still there was nothing to be found.

The feeling that had first accumulated in the pit of his stomach had grown, forcing itself into a lump that clogged his throat, making it difficult to breathe. With a hand clutching his bow tightly he came to a stop, leaning back against a tree as he shut his eyes. He wasn't certain if he should be disappointed or relieved in what they found, or in this case, what they lacked to find. It could mean many things, and yet nothing at all.

"We should head back," Will told him quietly. "He might be back at camp."

Robin found himself nodding. He had already considered that option, as well as another. "He might be…and he might not."

He opened his eyes to find the man watching him, and Robin was unable to hide the emotions that were inside of him. Surely Will could read him as well as any man. The outlaw simply stood there, as if studying him. If he understood, there wasn't anything said on the matter. Finally Will let out a sigh, wetting his lips.

"If he is not there, then we go to Nottingham."

"He is not in Nottingham."

"How do you know? And do not claim that you simply know."

Robin leaned his head back until it rested against the tree, his gaze staring up through the leaves, watching the stars as they slowly appeared in the night sky. How was he to explain? Explain that he did know, but couldn't describe how? It was a feeling he had, as sure as his own blood racing through his veins and the beating of his heart. He couldn't explain that any more than he could the question being asked of him now.

"Is it because you do not want it to be true? Robin, wake up. This is the sheriff we're talking about. Much will hang, whether you want him to or not. Staying here in the forest wishing that it was different will not help anyone. Least of all Much. If we leave now, we can still make it there by morning."

"The sheriff cannot hang Much because he is not there," Robin stressed.

"How do you know that he isn't?"

"I just know!" Robin cried out, letting out a groan as the other man protested.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Yes it does," Robin argued, moving from where he stood. He crossed the gap between them with ease, his voice lowering as it always did when he was serious. "I've been right about these things before, so just trust me. Alright?"

"Robin…you're risking a life here, on a feeling. Is that even wise?"

"Is it any wiser to risk five lives on another feeling?"

"At least we would be trying to do something, instead of running away."

"I'm not…running," Robin breathed, but the statement caused him to pause. Was it true, he wondered? Did he believe that Much wasn't in Nottingham due to his own fears, or based on what he saw before his eyes? He held onto his bow with both hands now, the one end digging into the dirt between his feet, supporting his weight as he leaned forward.

"Robin?" Will's voice was a serious one now.

"If the sheriff had Much, then surely I would know."

"Would you?"

Robin gave a nod, without hesitation. Much was just not another outlaw; he was someone Robin cared for, and deeply. This was knowledge the sheriff had, and he would use it accordingly. Even more so with the recent humiliation Robin and his men had presented the sheriff with. If Much had somehow fallen prey to the other, the story would be well heard wide and far. That was for certain.

"Do you ever consider that the sheriff works in many different ways? What about Allan's brother? We were certain we had the time, and we were wrong."

"We still knew," Robin pointed out, but he knew his argument was starting to fail.

"We were wrong."

He pressed a hand against his head, trying to quell the uneasy feeling that had sprung up suddenly. He had been wrong before, and even now, when he felt more than anything that he was right, he was beginning to question himself. Robin had avoided venturing to Nottingham for the last few days, afraid of what he might see or even hear. Every little thing had grabbed at him when he had last gone; the flowers that grew in the little bits of soil, the dresses made of fine silks and fabric that were displayed in the stalls at the market, even the birds that had sung their summer song in the air. It all reminded him of what he was going to lose…of what he had already lost.

Marian would marry Gisborne, and if there ever was a chance for him, it would be buried so deeply that he doubted it would ever be found again. The feeling of hopelessness, the constant reminder of the cause still burned inside of him now, consuming his thoughts and making his chest ache even the more. And when he felt as though he had lost everything, another blow had come. It felt as though there were walls all about him, drawing closer with every breath he took.

And if Will was right, if Much was in Nottingham, then the man would no doubt hang in the morning if he had not done so already. The thought sickened him, bringing the fathomed walls even closer, threatening to choke the very air from his lungs. Had his own misguided judgment brought him to this? His own selfish desires leading him astray to the point he was willing to risk the life of a friend?

"We have to find him," he whispered, his voice so low he could barely even hear his own words. "I can't lose him too."

He was surprised Will had heard him. At first it was as though the words were missed. But there was no such hope on Robin's part.

"What do you mean 'too'?"

It was all he could do to muster enough courage to raise his gaze and meet that of the other. Will was watching him, the same set expression on his face he always took when worried. It was the worry that seemed to scorn him the most, the one true thing he could never shake off. Angry, bitter words he could handle with his own, childish acts could be chastised, and cunning remarks ignored. But for whatever reason the worry others carried for him shook him to the core, making him feel all the more vulnerable.

"Is this…this is about her, about Marian, isn't it?"

How he could guess was beyond him, but Robin knew his feelings for Marian were no secret. In the time he had thought he had lost her all those months ago, that night in the cave, his emotions had surged, becoming raw and unstoppable. It would a foolish notion to disregard something as simple as common knowledge. Yet what Will knew, and what he guessed to be true were two very different things.

"Is she alright?"

"She is to marry Gisborne," he answered quietly as he turned away. It was so easy to say, and yet he felt as though the weight of the world was bearing down on him. And he knew Will would be doing the same shortly. He expected the belittling; after all his pain was born more from selfish desires than anything real. He was not sure if he hurt more because he was losing her, or because Gisborne was the one winning. He was afraid to know the true answer.

But there was no verbal storm from the other man. Instead his voice was quiet, withdrawn, matching the same temperament of the forest about them. "When?"

Robin shook his head in answer, running a hand along his eyes to banish the tears that were threatening to form. "I did not wish to know."

"Robin…we must stop it."

It surprised him, and Robin found himself watching the younger man with an air of disbelief. That line of thinking was supposed to be his own, and had been when the situation last arose. The sudden support was unexpected, but comforting. As much as it was disheartening. He found himself shaking his head even as the other man protested.

"There must be a way," Will answered in response. "You found a way last time."

"She does not want it to stop."

"She is being forced, you know this."

"It was to save me, Will," he told her sternly. The other man faltered, shaking his head a little, but Robin continued. "It is how she found out what the sheriff's plans were. I've already tried convincing her differently, but she will not listen."

"You know what Gisborne will do to her if he ever finds out. She is not safe there, not in such an arrangement."

"This is why he must never find out," Robin stressed.

"Robin, if she only knew what kind of man he was. If she knew all of the things he has done, not just to Knighton, but to you…"

"No," he was already shaking his head, dismissing the idea. While it was true it would more in likely cause her to fold, it was not something he wished her to know. It was a hard enough burden to bear with his men carrying the knowledge. He did not need to pass it along to her as well.

"Why? It is the truth."

"She sees Gisborne in a way that I will never understand. If she learns of what happened…it will destroy everything."

"For him, or for you?" Will demanded.

It was a question he couldn't answer. He had no love nor care for Gisborne, and protecting the man's reputation was not the first thing on his agenda. But to admit it was to spare himself, it seemed not only foolish, but arrogantly so.

"Is that what is more important to you then?" he wondered, catching Robin's attention then. "Your pride? You would let the woman you love walk to the alter with another man, and not just any other man, but a man such as that? Just so you can save your pride?"

"It is not that easy."

"Yes, it is," Will argued, the man sighing. He shook his head, his voice growing soft. "You've changed Robin. I do not know if all that has happened is finally catching up to you, or if something else is amiss. But you would never have let this go on."

Will was right, he knew. But how could he admit to the other man that he did not know how to stop it? Marian would not listen to him, nor would she believe him if he tried to tell her differently. Gisborne, of course, would deny what was said, and she would take his word as she had done all those years ago. The situation was hopeless.

"We find Much," the other man encouraged him. "Then we find a way to stop this."

"No," Robin shook his head. "None of the others must know. They cannot know."

"Robin…"

He was shaking his head, eliciting a sigh from the other. "It's over, Will, there is nothing we can do. Much is our concern for now."

"Then we go to Nottingham?"

Robin let out a nod, but only after a moment. He did not believe the man was there, but he had to know for sure. It felt as though there was little hope in any choice he made. "We go to Nottingham."

* * *

The ring was tight around her finger, a constant reminder of the prison she had forced herself into. It sat snugly around her flesh, giving only slightly so that she was able to twist it in its place. With a firm yank she could pull it free, and more than once had found herself doing so. The fingers of her other hand lingered on the metal as if studying it, but it was all she could do to force herself to leave it on.

Marian was no fool; she had known on the first day she had returned that this was what would be in store. There were reasons why Guy had wanted her to come back; the man had wasted little time in resuming his previous role as her future suitor when she had reluctantly offered to become his wife. For her, it was not only a wise choice, but a necessary one.

This game that she was playing, it was a dangerous one. Robin should know that more than anyone, even more than her. As Gisborne's wife she not only had protection, but a way to divulge the most secret of secrets. She knew how she could play him, knew how she could get precious information. Information that Robin and his men could use. In time the outlaw would understand; their paths were different. The truth hurt more than most things, but not everyone had a choice in life.

That still did not change the guilt she carried. Even now she could remember the look on Robin's face when the truth was known. The bitterness in his voice had not gone amiss either when she had turned him down a second time. But there was little else she could do. Besides, Guy was not necessarily a bad man; he had only made some poor choices, foolish ones, much like Robin had.

While the two had different goals, their choices were driven by the same desires. A desire for power of sorts. Gisborne, however, was influenced by the sheriff on a daily basis, the most basic reason for his ill deeds. Robin had never been able to reach that brink due to his men who were as righteous as he was. They were his balance when Robin lost control; they were able to bring him back from the edge.

Gisborne had no one. Yet in a week's time he would have her. Marian was confident that this marriage would work not only to serve her and Robin, but also Guy. She believed that in time she could change the man, perhaps even persuade him to join their fight. He would see what the sheriff was doing was wrong. He had to see it…Marian knew the battle would be a tough one, but without the premise of the Nightwatchman, she was looking forward to another challenge in her life.

She pulled her hands away from one another, forcing herself to stop meddling with the small trinket. It would serve her no purpose to fret as she was; not when it was such a beautiful day. Since Robin's departure back into the forest after the mishap, Marian had stayed inside the castle and even more so her room. The sheriff was infuriated by the events that had taken place and was no better than an angry lion looking for a poor hapless lamb to devour. Guy had been taking the brunt of his wrath, and Marian had done well to stay out of both their ways.

But it had been near a week since it all had taken place, and she could not stay confined forever. Taking in some air would be a refreshing change, and it would be one of her few final days as a maiden. True, she was far too old to be considered one, but she felt no older than the younger girls that wandered the town market. Keeping the thought in mind she set to work on her hair, pulling free the tangles that had crept up during the night.

There were not many, but enough to keep her busy and she frowned as the light faded from the window. Her candles had gone out the night before and in the morning it had been bright enough to see without them. If there were clouds blocking the sun then perhaps going for a ride was not the best of ideas. But there were no clouds, and this was a fact she knew well. She had spent the last hour sitting in the arch watching the open sky.

Without even looking she set the brush down, weaving her locks into a tight braid. "The answer is still no. It will not matter how many times you ask."

"I am not here to ask."

She looked at him with slight amusement then as she tied off the braid. Robin stood, supporting his weight against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched her. His face was passive, almost unreadable, betraying no signs of what he was about to say. But she could guess well enough.

"You will not demand it of me either."

"It had crossed my mind," he confessed, "but I knew you would not listen. So why even say it?"

Because she wanted him to. She couldn't tell him that, however. There was no use to give him false hopes, and the last thing she needed was encouragement to run away from what was right. Despite how much she wanted to. Moving to her feet she smoothed her dress, wetting her lips as she tried to come up with what to say. Normally she never found herself at loss for words, but since her betrothal with Gisborne it had become increasingly difficult.

"Robin…I do not know what to say, other than I am sorry. What is done is done, we can't change it."

He moved then, drawing nearer but not too close. His arms were still folded in front of him, and it was only then that she could really see him. He looked tired, as though he had forgone any sort of rest for a good time. It gave her cause to worry, but she found no time to comment on it.

"And so we have agreed on this," he said simply. It hurt more than she wanted to admit. True, she had put her effort into convincing him this was the only way. But she had expected more effort on his part. Now it seemed as though he was simply giving up.

"Why are you here then?" she wondered bitterly. "Obviously you did not come to offer good fortune. Have you come to mock instead? Call me a fool perhaps?"

"You are no fool," Robin said quietly, his gaze falling to the floor. "The truth of the matter was that I had no desire to come…or be here. Yet I had no choice…Much has gone missing."

"Missing?" Out of everything that was unexpected, and her earlier bitterness was gone almost instantly.

"No one has seen him since the night before last."

"You think he left?"

It was an honest question, but Robin's gaze flicked back up to hers and she could see it was filled with confusion. Obviously he had never considered this option before, and his emotions were easy to read.

"What reason would he have to leave?"

"You did try to kill him," she reminded him dryly. Marian was regretful in the next moment, knowing she could not take back the words that would wound him. She had not meant it so much as in spite, but as a simple reminder instead. Robin said his men trusted him still, but Marian did not know how far that trust went. Robin had betrayed them…even if it was unintentional.

"He does not hold me accountable for that," Robin whispered quietly. "Even if that were the case, why wait until now to leave? Would he not have done so before?"

She nodded, knowing that the logic was there. She also knew that though there were some who might abandon Robin, Much was not one of them. She had known Much for as long as Robin had, and knew that loyalty was a trait the man carried well. One would have to pry the other man away with strength of a dozen horses before he would willingly give in.

"My men think he is here," Robin continued dryly after the silence had stretched too long.

"You do not?"

"The dungeons were empty this morning, and the gallows have not even been prepared."

"I would have seen him," Marian encouraged him. She did not add that she would have heard about it as well. With the incessant roaring coming from the sheriff's quarters everyone in Nottingham would have heard if an outlaw had been captured.

Robin could only nod. Marian was unsure if this knowledge was comforting or not. It could be many of things, and yet nothing at all. Slowly she drew in another breath, trying to come up with another suggestion. "Perhaps he is here, maybe the sheriff does not know he is one of your men?"

"He would know," Robin argued. "If he didn't at first, then Much would be sure to inform him."

There was the faintest trace of a smile lingering on the man's lips, but it was one that was sad, as if remembering fond memories that could be no more.

"We can't be sure as of yet. The sheriff is still furious with all that has happened; he would not wait for you to come and rescue anyone. If he is here, then he would be somewhere new. I can speak to Guy and…"

"No."

The change in his voice startled her, and she glanced up at him in confusion. Here she was offering an option, a way to know for sure so that any mistake could be avoided. Yet he was determined; she could see it in his eyes.

"No," he spoke more calmly now. "What would you say to him? How would you even know that anything has taken place? The risk is too high."

"I have done this for many more years than you believe," she chastised him. "Rumors travel through the towns quickly, and most of them untrue. I, a simple woman who does not understand how most things work, am concerned. I speak my concerns to Guy, he shares what he knows so that I do not worry. Then I tell you."

"Rumors are one thing; it is not a rumor when no one knows about it. You cannot hide behind a lie that will not back you up."

"Robin…"

"No," he was shaking his head again. "I forbade you."

"You forbade me?"

A nod. The look in his eyes said for certain as well. She let out a sigh. "What will you do then?"

He shrugged, letting out a sigh as well. "Search the towns, the forest…what else is there to do?"

"Let me help you then; I am going to ride out today, perhaps I can see something you cannot. An extra pair of eyes will only speed things along."

"While your offer in generous, the answer is still the same. Marian…you cannot keep up with this charade, you are in dangerous company."

"My closest friends are thieves and criminals, guilty of nearly every crime known to man. I do not think I can find company that is any more dangerous."

There was a smile shared with her, and for the first time she felt a bit of relief. They were talking again, like they always had, even if it was only a pretense. She was going to speak once again, but faltered as she heard the voice. Robin had heard it as well, his eyes shifting to the door. With an exasperated sigh she turned to the door. Out of all the times!

"Leave, while you still can. I will keep him occupied."

"I am not afraid of him," Robin remarked, rolling his eyes.

"Gisborne will hang you," she reminded him, "and me as well if he catches you in here."

"Not if you scream," the man pointed out. "Then your knight will come and rescue you, sweep you off your feet as he saves you from the big bad villain."

"Grow up," she growled, already moving towards the door. He was infuriating at times, nothing more than an overgrown child. She did not risk saying anything else, motioning for the man to leave instead as the knock came on the door.

In truth she should have expected it. Gisborne seemed to somehow slip away from the sheriff long enough to intrude upon her and remind her of the approaching date. She couldn't forget, even if she wanted to. Part of her did though, she had to admit. One last time she motioned at Robin angrily, the man still standing in the middle of the room with a smirk on his face, as if daring her to let the other in. Charming, it wasn't in the least. He obsessed over her safety and then in turn pulled pranks such as this.

One last time she begged him to hide, irritated that he had not done so already, but her attention was focused on the door. Gisborne would not wait forever, but perhaps she could distract him. Long enough so that Robin could get his priorities back in order.

**TBC**


	4. A Game of Colors

**Thanks to everyone reading for sharing their thoughts, I really enjoy hearing what you have to say. Thanks goes out to Kegel once again for her help in this chapter. **

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**Chapter Four: A Game of Colors**

He had no intentions of staying; Gisborne was bad enough alone, but Robin did not think he could bear to face him and Marian side by side. No sooner than she had slipped through the door he was on his way out the window. Yet that did not take him very far. Getting in had been easy, still early enough that there the market was bare, but now it was teeming with both villagers and guards alike. The chances of slipping out unseen were now minimal at best, and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to Marian's room.

But he could not stay where he was. The door was opening again, and he needed a place to hide. And now. His choice perhaps wasn't the best, but it would work. The chest had been sitting open when he first arrived, containing garments of various selection all folded neatly. Quickly he had climbed in, bringing the lid down with him. And not a moment too soon.

There was hardly enough room to move, legs folded under him as he lay to one side, peering out the small key hole as he strained his neck to one side. He could hear them well enough, Marian's voice growing calm with relief as the room was apparently empty. While he could not see Gisborne, he could hear his response to her words, could tell by his voice that the man hadn't a clue of what had just taken place right under his eyes. That in itself was a relief.

Laying his head down on the soft fabric below him, Robin let out a sigh, trying to keep his breaths even. Though he was cramped he didn't dare move more than needed, knowing that if the other heard the slightest of sounds it would draw attention. With nowhere left to hide, and nowhere to run if he was found, things would end poorly for not only him, but for Marian as well. And that was something Robin was not willing to risk.

With no physical escape, Robin soon learnt that there was yet another thing he could not escape. That was their conversation. Of Gisborne's quiet wooing, promises that hardly seemed real and of what the future would bring. Marian responded in the likes, of a positive manner, perhaps feeling free simply because she did not know Robin was even still there. He knew that his presence often made her uncomfortable when in front of Gisborne, but he had never once stopped to think of her manner before the other man while he was not around.

And it hurt. A kind of pain he could not describe, for it wasn't something he had actually felt before. He could feel his lungs tighten, his chest ache in the slightest, and for a time he could actually swear that the words that were spoken made no sense. Maybe it was because he did not want them to make sense. They could not be true…

How long the pair spent talking Robin could not know for sure. To him it felt like ages, for every second burned in his memory as the words echoed in the small room. The air around him had grown wet and heavy, moisture collecting from his breaths and trapped just as he was with nowhere to go. His legs had first grown weary from the cramped position, and then had started to go numb when he finally heard the words filter off. He knew they were leaving, a sort of relief filling him and casting away some of the emptiness that had once occupied him. Still he waited well after the door was closed before moving, wanting to be certain he was alone.

When no other sounds came he moved. He placed a hand flat against the top of the chest, giving it the slightest of nudges as he tried to sit up. Nothing happened. For a moment his heart stopped, but quickly he swallowed, keeping himself calm, and tried once more. The same result, and with a dreadful feeling Robin knew what the matter was.

He was locked in.

Swallowing he lay himself back down, thankful for at least the folds of cloth that provided some cushioning. Though he wanted to panic, he told himself that it was not logical. A frenzied panic would help no one, least of all himself, and he needed to stay calm so that he could think. Once again he reached up, hands pressed against the lid, testing the strength of the wood.

It held fast, proving his already suggested notion that he could not simply break his way out. The lock would have to be undone, but he was no expert in that field. Silently he wished that Will were with him; the man knew his fair share around such ordeals. It was an amusing thought, Robin unable to stop himself from smiling as it came to light. There simply wouldn't be enough room for the two of them in here.

Slowly he sat up, as much as he could, supporting weight on his elbows as he tried to resituate himself so that he could see out the small hole once more. With a hand he ran his fingers along the lock, feeling his way in the darkness as he tried to guess what it would take. He had nothing small enough with him, and certainly not enough room to maneuver properly. That also cast out the option of perhaps cutting his way free.

Not only could he not free any of his weapons, but he suspected that Marian would not be exceptionally pleased with his manner of thinking. With a sigh he eased himself back down, trying to come up with another plan. Even if he failed in that, he knew that Marian would not be gone forever. She was bound to return eventually…

The thought depressed him, another thing coming to light just then. She had said something about riding out that day, and if that was her plan, she would not return until later…much later. The simple thought of being trapped where he was for that long was upsetting, and Robin found himself testing the lid once more. He would not stay like this, not if he could help it.

* * *

They had all gone off on their own. Prepared for a rescue that had never come, they had been lost on what to do. At first there had been worry; slipping into the village, and then into the castle had been far too easy. There was always worry when issues such as this arose, or the lack of issues, he would have to admit.

The jailer was easily subdued, the keys taken, and the dungeons searched. But there was nothing. It was the first sign of a trap, but getting out had been just as easy. Once they reached the open air, Robin had given the orders to split up, announcing another time and place that they would meet. Allan had been the last among them to leave.

He wove his way through the market with ease, pretending to be milling about, searching for a trinket or morsel of food he could not live without. Those who were there to sell watched him with interest. In turn, he pretended to listen with interest, partially paying attention to why the goods they had were ones he could not live without.

Normally he would have been all ears, running his mouth as he moved his hands to collect odds and ends for himself to sell later. Now he could not even bring himself to do that, the worry evident in the back of his mind. It was the first time anyone of them had truly gone missing. In a sorts, he gathered, once he had thought about it.

Robin, too, had gone missing after falling into Gisborne's trap. But Will's expertise had found him shortly after. At least they had known where the other man had been, despite the fact of not being able to do very much about it. With Much…they had simply run out of ideas.

Allan had managed to ask a few of the villagers there, inquiring about any processions or hangings. The answers were always the same, partially comforting, but infuriating at the same time. No one had seen anything. Others were beginning to grow suspicious when he asked. Twice now he had pulled away from the prying eyes of a passing guard.

His wanders finally took him to a place he knew well, perhaps better than he should once he thought about it. The Tripp Inn, after all, was a local joint where any man could lose himself and forget his worries. It seemed like a perfect solution then, but Allan had to wonder what the others would think about his excursion off the current tangent. That, of course, was only if they found out about it.

Playing with the few coins that rested in his purse by his side he made up his mind. There was still another hour yet before Robin had quoted to meet. Allan did not see much of a point in wandering about empty handed when he could pass the time just as easily in here. There was not a lively crowd, and that was not in the least surprising. The market gathered more attention at this time of the day, the inn being filled with regulars at the end of the day when the sun was dipping low in the sky.

Quick, keen eyes scanned the area, noting a few potential victims that might may have a good pot, all the while keeping in mind of those that should be avoided. Hustling was a dangerous business to delve in, even more so when one did not play their cards right. And speaking of cards…

He moved with swift, solid steps, making his destination known. To his right was a lone man, sitting far enough in the back that they would be away from the main path of the serving wenches, but at the same time it allowed a clear route in case the need for escape arose. He spent his time shuffling a lone deck of cards, hardly looking his direction as Allan approached. With a deft smile he took a seat, hands folding behind his head as he leaned back in the chair.

"Seems like you're the type of man lookin' for a gamble."

It was a simple suggestion, the enticement, if one could call it anything. He had to bait someone into his game first if he had any hope of turning a profit. The other man let out a grunt, shaking his head. While a good few years older than Allan was himself, the man did not seem put off by his age. He was dressed well enough to show he was no simple beggar, but neither was he any lord.

"There is not any I would like to gamble with. Not with the ruckus and all a few days back. I can't afford to lose like I did then."

"Easy proposition," Allan continued, reaching for the cards the man held. It took a moment, but finally the other relented, and Allan took the deck, shuffling it causally. "Two colors, right? You guess what color it's going to be, and do so correctly, the bet is yours. Choose wrongly, it becomes mine. But the say is always yours, agreed? Makes it a fifty fifty win, whatever way you look at it."

The other man chuckled, studying him closely. "That is what you call a game?"

"A game of chance," Allan shrugged, shuffling still. "Cards are not my best suit; never understood the way numbers work, but colors I can do. Tell you what, the first hand is yours, on the house, if you could say."

He waited until the man nodded before moving. A slight shift in his weight, pretending to get comfortable, puling free the small item from his purse. It was no more than a bit of rounded glass he had once found, but it proved unremarkably handy in such a situation. The small treasure was balanced on his leg, above his thigh so that it was out of sight of the other, but well in the sight of his. With the quickest of moments it took only a glance to see what the card was.

All of this happened within a mere moment; trickery of the hand was important if you were in it to win, and though having half a chance to win, Allan knew he needed more than just simple luck. No sooner had he the glass into play had he pulled free his lonesome coins, dropping one into the center of the pile.

"Alright, my friend, say a color, any color, preferably one of the two I hold now in my hand, and we'll see if this shilling is yours."

The other watched him, a quizzical expression on his face. "That is it then? No money on my side, but you put yours up without question?"

"Go ahead and give it a go."

"Well then," he responded, craning his head to one side. "I'll be doing the devil's color then; make it a black."

The slightest glance, the play of his fingers, the confirmation he needed. Though it was hard to willingly force himself to lose, Allan knew the greater gain would come in the end if one was enticed to keep playing. His hands were practiced, well enough that they knew every move without thought. And before the eye could even see, he had pulled free a card that was black as night, or as the man had said, the devil himself.

"Rightly you guessed there," Allan remarked as the man reached over to snatch the coin. "What say you then, have another go? Bet right this time?"

"Every shilling earned is one made up for being lost, it is," the other commented. "Rightly my fault though, I gather. I told myself, said 'John, those there men don't seem right.' Of course I didn't listen, and my own fault too I presume."

"You could earn more back, both our chances are fair, don't you think?"

With a sigh John nodded, tossing the coin back on the table to match Allan's new one. "Give it another go, black it was before, the devil's color it be again."

An easy win in his favor would only make the man more reluctant to play. Allan fished another black card out with ease, hands seeming to only draw the top card, as if there was no choice in the matter at all. A gleeful laugh came from the other as he collected his winnings, matching Allan's next bet with one of his own. It was a difficult process not to mention a painful one. Allan's purse was shrinking much faster than anticipated, and he knew that he would have to start playing to his own favor and soon.

"Tell me about those men," he remarked, laying down a red. Another hand to John, but rightly so since the man had just switched his choice of color from black to red. In truth he cared little about what the other had to say, but knew that half the trick lay in deceiving, the other in distraction. Having victims riling themselves up with talk was far more effective than blabbering on about any old thing.

"Devil's color," John spat at the suggestion, tossing down a coin. "They was here in the inn a few days back. I promise you I've had more than my fair share of drinks so I can say rightly when. Can't count that high when the world be spinning around you that quickly. But I was sober enough, yes I was, when it happened. Make mine a red this time."

Another coin on the table, Allan fished out a black and turned it upright, much to the scowl of the other. More coins were lain down, another color called, another bet lost. "What was it they did?"

He needed for the distraction to occur, needed for the other to concentrate on anything other than just how much money was lost. Another due point of removing the coins and placing them into the purse. The man could not miss what he could not see.

"Two of them, one skinny as a whittled stick yelping like some angry whelp about one thing or another. Not from around here, they weren't. No place to stay, didn't want to sleep on the roads. Poor them; half of the village sleeps on the road, why should it be any different for they? I call a black, a bet of two of this time…'Sides, no one travels here any the more, no place welcomes strangers. Can you blame them? What with the sheriff and his little dog-bodies all about, causing trouble in one end and in the other? They dun' know if they'd get paid with silver or a visit to the gallows."

Allan knew that much was true. Many of the houses that once had welcomed weary travelers had boarded up their spare rooms for fear of what would happen should they mistakenly welcome a friend of the sheriff. The slightest offense could end with your head on a pike. It was not worth risking one's life over. Allan nodded in agreement, playing the black as the man had called. Every draw could not be a win in his favor or the man would grow suspicious. And the fact it was a double bet made all the matter. A true hustler would have jumped on such a bet, but forcing it to be a loss only made him believe the draw was truly random.

"Makin' everyone jumpy, they was. So I invited them to join my table, bought a few rounds of ale, a bit o' food. Charity can't go wrong, says I. Guess I was wrong; lost their way, far from home, and near out of money, they say. But give them money I did not. Food and drink, I said, for that was a start. Find your own wage after that, many people need some sort of help that are willing to feed and bed. That what you need money for; work for that they could. Another black I say.

Then they say this; they say they has food, that sleep is not so important, they can do that any of the where. So why the money, I ask? You know what they say then?"

Allan was hardly listening, focusing instead on the cards in his hand. It was starting to grow tricky now, for more than half the deck had been played, and it was growing more difficult to find the particular card needed. When he reached to pull out another after the color had been called he allowed his hand to relax, half of the remaining cards coming with. They spilt over the table, half facing up, the other scattered in disarray.

"My pardon," Allan apologized, scrambling to pick them all up. "We'll just shuffle them and continue, no big deal there. But tell me, what was it they said?"

It was not out of curiosity he asked, but rather the knowledge that the other man was spurred on by his own story. So distracted he was the man had failed to notice he was losing the majority of the hands. In fact he was hardly even looking at what color did show up. It made no difference to Allan how hard or easy it was to win, as long as he won in the end.

"They says 'we here be lookin for the orphanage, I hear abouts there's one near'. 'Why the orphanage', says I. Can't hardly reckon any reasoning two men go looking for children. That's woman's business, wanting kids, a family. Men want their own blood raising a farm or land, not some babe dropped off with a stranger in some strange house and forgotten 'bout. Another red.

So we talk some mores, they say they lookin' for some help. Doin' something, somethin' important I gather cause they won't tell me, no they won't. Just work, of some sorts. I says to them, 'children are children, and they be just that'. Believe it too, I do. I just don't go round saying things cause I can. Not right, for a man to lie."

Allan slipped another card out, a black this time, turning the win in his favor. Already he had doubled the size of his purse, and the story was interesting enough to not bore him to tears in the process. But he couldn't pay attention to every word, his attention instead on the cards. The man called out another color, Allan already setting to work to find the opposite as the man continued.

"They leave, as did I after a time. Waitin' for me, they was. Robbed me blind, took my purse. Left with only the coins I kept in my pocket, not many that was. Times are hard enough, with sheriff and all. Then the likes of them come along and take what is rightfully mine? No good, those two. But what can a man do? The sheriff wouldn't help, wouldn't ask, no I wouldn't, even if it might. No business with the sheriff is good business."

Allan knew the truth behind that more than anyone he supposed. As well as the rest of the lads. They all had had their fair share with Gisborne and the sheriff…and the noose. The simple thought made him cringe, and suddenly Allan didn't feel all that much like playing anymore. The thought of Much returning, and his disappearance, and of Robin's quiet demeanor. He hated when the archer was like that; it was easy to know how to act when you knew the mood of the others. But Robin was the hardest to read out of everyone.

"There's business I should be attending to," Allan told the man quietly, laying the cards on the table then. "I hate to cut our game short, but I think I've been here too long."

"As well as it is, I seem to be short of money again. Lest this time it is through trickery and not forceful threats."

The comment made him pause, his fingers curling around the glass that had proved so useful. Most were angry once they figured out they had been scammed, but if that was the case here then this man seemed pretty even-tempered.

"Thought I wasn't noticing, ey? Sharper than I look, I am. You have good skill with those hands, you can be something great. Why waste it all?"

Again he said nothing, a bit wary of the man who he thought he had scammed so easily. With his free hand he clutched his purse, heavy now at his side, ready to bolt in case the man should draw attention. Instead the man smiled, bringing a cup to his lips for the first time that night.

"Work for your food, your bed. That's all you need. The money others need; keeps them from the dungeons it does. Robin does. See that it finds its way to him, to the others that need it more."

He could only swallow, his voice having been lost at the sudden realization that his entire ploy had been found out from the very beginning. Quickly he moved to his feet, darting out the door and into open sunlight, feeling for the first time able to really breathe. It was well past the time that he should have met with the others, and no doubt they would not be happy by his tardiness.

* * *

Fortune had been with them in every case save for the one they needed. The risk of sneaking into the castle to save one of their own was always high, and more often than not was met with success. Will was certain they would be fine; Much's imprisonment was not known and therefore his rescue would go unhindered. Yet the one detail he had failed to consider had been the largest blunder to the mission yet. Much was not here.

He bit his lip, leaning against the post as he watched the sun hang in the sky. They had been there since the early morn, sneaking about the castle and wandering the market as Robin went off on yet another endeavor. The man had not spoken with him personally since the night before, leaving him to wonder if the archer was silently holding a grudge for the words that he was forced to speak. Or perhaps it was because his decision had been wrong.

But what else was he supposed to conceive? Nottingham was where prisoners were taken…with Much missing, it was only accurate to assume that was what had befallen him. Now he was coming to the realization that he had done exactly what Robin had warned him against. They had risked the lives of all of them on a suspicion that was neither true nor confirmed in the simplest of manners. And now, to make matters worse, there were yet more members of their group missing.

Coming back to the meet point early he had not been surprised to see a few of the others there. John, with his quiet demeanor, only changed a questioning gaze with him that was returned with a simple shake of his head. What they had been hoping to find on their pointless excursion was beyond him. The talk of the market was on the value of the goods, not on political happenings with the sheriff.

He moved at the touch, meeting her gaze with one of his own and he forced a smile, trying to shrug off the worry he felt. Djaq was no fool however, already reading his thoughts though he had tried to hide them. "He will be here."

She had been the next to come, and here they stood, the three of them under the shadows of an awning. The stall next to them was bare, boarded up and falling to bits from constant wear from the weather and little attention to repair. It kept them out of the main pace of the market, but at the same time they were not so visible nor suspicious to the wandering eye. They seemed little more than a couple of poor peasants lingering at the edge of the stalls, hoping for a bit of food or ale. It was unlikely anyone would pay them any heed.

That was what they wanted. Waiting here could take the smallest of moments, or half the day depending on Robin's moods. At times it was irritating, knowing that so much was decided on so little. Robin was arrogant, but Will trusted him all the same. He could feel the guilt already a little. He should have trusted Robin more. Somehow Robin had known that Much was not here. And now, they were losing time in finding the man. What would he say if Will's misjudgment cost them more than just time?

He found himself swallowing over the thought. Will had to admit that he did not know the man very well. They got along rightly so, but it did not mean that they were the closest of friends. Even now, as he thought about it, he could not imagine what things would be like without the other man around. He couldn't think like that though; nothing was for certain, and could not be declared so this early into their mission. They could not fail…

He could still hear the way Robin had pleaded with him. Much was a part of who the man was, had been with him for near a decade. Will even suspected that Much knew secrets about the man that Robin did not even know himself. His eyes drifted up the wall of the castle, moving from archway to archway, and up to the windows. Robin was up there somewhere, with no doubt speaking to Marian. The woman he loved, the woman he would lose…

Robin couldn't lose her, he decided. Once they had all of this sorted out they would figure out a way to stop it. Will was certain about that. Robin would fight against it once given the time to think things through. Right now he was still hurting from his latest trial, and now these new complications had sprung up. There was a whirlwind of emotions flittering between all of them, threatening to suffocate them, like a fire that was being chocked to death from the lack of air. They just had to learn how to breathe again, and take things one a time. And their first priority, of course, was finding Much.

"He should be here by now," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. Yet the two with him heard him well, agreeing silently. Cursing, he reminded himself to be patient. Robin could care well enough for himself a majority of the time. And with no doubt, if the archer had fallen into a trap, then certainly they would know as well. The sheriff would have already had them all strung in the gallows. Will ran a hand along his neck, grimacing at the thought. It had already happened once; he did not need to experience it once again.

"It's been too long," John spoke as though he was reading Will's mind. He glanced at the other, nodding in agreement. Robin was not the best judger of time and knowing how long certain issues took. But he was never this far off. There was something wrong, and it sat ill with him. Perhaps it was possible the man had fallen into the same trap as Much, and that the sheriff and Gisborne were only waiting for the rest to follow so that they could pick the outlaws off one by one. It was not a comforting thought…

"I'm going in," he decided then. "The rest of you stay here; if I don't come back…"

"Not being funny or anything, but where are you going?"

"Nice of you to join us, Allan," Will let out a bitter sigh, but it was mixed with relief. He never once believed the man to be in trouble; he was just good at guessing his nature. "Where have you been?"

"In Nottingham," he responded causally, "like you, I suppose. Where's Robin?"

"That's just what I was going to find out. Stay here with the others."

"Not being funny, but we seem to be losing people the fastest that way, with this splitting up all. Let me come with you."

At first he wanted to argue, for a variety of reasons he couldn't even propose. He remembered well the promise he made to Robin. And he wanted to speak with Marian; he would not believe that she was willingly agreeing to her arrangement. That it was just some sort of excuse to distance herself from Robin instead. He could make her tell him, and try to convince her differently.

But his logical mind told him otherwise. What he wanted would have to wait; Robin was what they needed at the moment. And though it was possible he was safe at this very moment, hidden behind closed doors as he spoke to his love one final time before she wed, it was a chance he could not risk. Finally he nodded to Allan, pursing his lips as he thought.

"We need to find a way in. And Marian; if he isn't with her…then she's sure to know where he is."

Allan grinned, the look in his eyes he always got when a brilliant idea struck. "I have the perfect solution."

**TBC**

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**A/N: History of playing cards suggest that they did not arrive Europe until the 14****th**** century, but I took the liberty of altering history just slightly so that it would work .^-^**


	5. Found

**Sorry for the long wait inbetween updates. Work has been crazy and has left me with little time to write!**

**Shorter chapter this time round, but I'll try to make them longer as we get further into the story. **

**Thanks goes to **_**Kegel **_**for the beta! **

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**Chapter Five: Found**

Her first intention had been to distract him. To draw him away, entice him into a walk, or similar endeavor. He would not be stopped; Gisborne enjoyed escaping into the sanctuary of her room. It was an oasis, a way he could free himself of the confines of the sheriff, if only for a short time.

As he pushed his way in, she held her breath, trying to come up with a reason, any reason that she could to explain. Yet having to construe why there was an outlaw in her room was a difficult task at best. The room, however, had been empty. She had never been more relieved.

Her demeanor had then relaxed; she had played off his words, had tried to sound encouraging. This was the man that she was to spend the rest of her life with. There had to be some attempt to understand him, to divulge in the same interests the other held.

This was how she ended up here. Clad in one of her newest wardrobe collections, seated in a chair by his right hand, trying to feign interest in what was taking place before her. The two men, covered in tattered rags, sporting blunt sticks, dancing around one another in a crude pit. It seemed as though the sheriff had grown bored; or perhaps the man was simply trying to make up for the stinging loss of Robin and his men.

They were prisoners. One had stolen food, a piece of bread and a bit of cheese, or so Gisborne had said. His choices had been to lose a hand, or wait for trial in hopes of a successful win. Though a petty thief, he had no desire to give over his limb willingly, and had instead chosen prison.

The other, Marian had really no clue as to why he was even there. Nor did Gisborne, but his statement had been that it must have been something. One did not just end up in the dungeons for no reason at all. That was skeptical, however, in regards to how things were being ran as of late. There was no real law, no order. If there was, then this would not be taking place.

She closed her eyes with a grimace as one of the men lashed out with his bit of wood, catching the other fully in the head. The crack was audible, the gasps throughout the crowd, the simple applauding of the sheriff. The poor stricken man was not out, the slightest of glances proving that he was staggering to his feet, supporting a fresh bloodied wound.

She felt the gentle pat on her arm, turning her gaze to meet Gisborne's. The man, sporting his infamous black leather, leaned closer to her, speaking words in low tones. "I know that it is difficult Marian, but I beg of you, do not embarrass me."

"This is wrong," she whispered in mild disgust. "You know that it is wrong."

"It is only wrong to question the sheriff," he responded. "The sheriff cordially invited you to join; it would suit him best if you showed…a more appreciable manner towards his festival."

This was no festival; it was torture. The two men were being forced to fight. The winner would walk free; the loser would suffer the rather unfortunate prize of dying a painful death. Even then, Marian was certain the winner's throat would be slashed. Granting freedom to criminals was not a reputation the sheriff held lightly. He did not even provide that to innocent men.

There was another blow, more blood entering the ring, a mixture of grotesque comments, and ones of approval sounding through the air. Marian felt her blood boil, her stomach turning. She could not watch this any longer.

The hand on her arm stopped her from rising completely, Gisborne bringing her back down. "I feel ill," she told him. "I wish to retire to my room."

"You will not go anywhere," he warned her. "The sheriff would not approve."

"Good. I am not seeking his approval."

"I am," the frown on his face deepened. "When you are my wife, I will be able to protect you. You will never have to witness such blood thirst again. But until that time comes, you must honor my wishes, and compose yourself."

"How shall I do that?" she wondered with irritation. "I do not feel well, Sir Guy. Yet you would force me to stay here?"

"You need more courage," he let out a growl, releasing her arm. "Deal with it," he paused then, his voice growing softer the next moment. "For me…please."

"I have a headache; it is difficult to think."

"Then do not think."

She let out a sigh, having run out of ideas for the current time. Staying here was the last thing she truly desired, but going against her future husband's wishes was never a wise thing. Already things were to be difficult; making it even more so would do her no favors. Her stomach was turning ill at the spectacle, the two men going at it harshly now. It was maddening to sit here, and watch it, unable to do anything to help. This was why it was even more important for her to return as the Nightwatchman.

It was a decision she had contemplated heavily. Every instinct inside of her warned her that it was not a wise thing to carry on the guise once married. That would not happen yet for several days, giving her little precious time to act out any wishes or desires. And it made it all the worse that Gisborne came to call upon her so often. She was not even married yet, and already it was difficult to breathe.

Was it a wise thing then, that she had decided that the Nightwatchman would live on? With a sigh she eased herself back in the chair, trying to turn away from the clamor below. There had been a few more solid hits, blood littering the floor beneath the two thieves. As the Nightwatchman, she could help feed those who were on the brink of starvation, or at least help them free after being caught. Then they would not have to suffer through this…

Marian could not help but flinch as the crack came, and then another, one poor man staggering before falling to the ground. There was another hit, and the former did not rise. Timidly she pressed a hand to her head, trying to block out the sights and sounds. People where cheering, nearly obscuring the quiet mummers of disapproval. At least she was not the only one who disagreed of such vile sport.

"Ah, looks like we have a winner!"

Marian composed herself at the slightest touch from Guy as the sheriff began to speak. The man had stood, arms raising to quiet the crowd about him. "True strength has proven innocence, and that alone never fails. My good man, you are free to go."

The convicted, covered in blood from his rival, saw new light, and wasted little precious time in fleeing the ring, pushing through the guards that had created a falsified barricade. There were more cheers, more grunts of disapproval as the sheriff turned to face the pair of them.

"Gisborne…make sure he is found…and disposed of. We can't just have thieves running free, now can we?"

"That is not fair," Marian started, stopping only as Guy cut her off.

"Oh come now, Gisborne, let your leper speak. She might have something useful to say for once."

It was a jibe she had to ignore. Still she held her head up high, confidence building in her. "He followed the rules presented to him. He won the trial fair and square."

"There is where you are wrong," the man countered her, shaking his finger. "This was no trial. Just simply a little bit of fun."

"That's vile…"

"And so are woman, but you don't see me ridding of you. You know, Gisborne, I do believe your...dearly betrothed can use a lesson in minding her manners. See that she does, or I can remedy that situation myself."

"Yes, milord," came the tentative answer. It seemed to be satisfying enough for the sheriff, the man already onto other events of the day. He clasped his hands, addressing the crowds once more.

"What are we all waiting for, we have a lovely feast inside, and all of you are welcome to join. We all must have hearty appetites after such a wonderful marvel!"

"Marian…" Guy's voice was low, disapproving, his face set hard. "Do not agitate him. I cannot protect you if you overstep your boundaries."

"I do not know whom I should be angrier with," she stated bitterly as they moved to their feet. "I expected something of the sort from the sheriff, but I never expected my husband to be to support such disagreeable activities."

"You know that the choice is not mine…"

"Everything is a choice," she snapped, but grew quiet in the next moment. He was making a choice, she realized. He was a pawn in the sheriff's game, would always be until she convinced him otherwise. But for now…she could not just speak ill things so openly. Her time would come when they were alone, when they were husband and wife. Where the hand of the sheriff could not reach them so, or dwell on their spoken words. She would not be able to change him in one day. Swallowing, she turned to leave, but he caught her hand.

"Let us have dinner," he suggested in a voice less hard than before. If he knew of her troubles, or he merely guessed at her upsets she could not tell. But it was easy to see that he was trying to comfort her.

Still she wanted to say no, ill feelings from the spectacle she had been forced to watch creeping up. How could she eat when she felt this sickly? But the message was clear in his eyes, and a confrontation was the last thing she wanted. She forced herself to smile, giving him the slightest of nods.

"Let me go and change into something more comfortable. It will give me a moment to think."

She was afraid he was to argue, to force her to come anyway. She did not need to change, and he knew the truth of it as well. He gave her a nod though, permitting her to leave which she did without a second thought. The crowd was left behind as she turned down the hallways, her mind ablaze with what had happened, and with worries of what else might come.

* * *

It was not the first time he had traveled through these halls disguised as a guard. He had, in fact, done it so often that it was now becoming the norm. Why no one seemed to recognize him was a feat in itself, but Will figured the helmet obscured enough of his face that no questions were asked. Why would there be? It was not as if they were going to start scrutinizing each and every passing guard. There would not be enough time to even do so.

Still he strode confidently, Allan at his side as they moved from one corridor to the next. They had started on the ground floor, working their way up, checking into the rooms as they passed by. It was a tricky ordeal, a dangerous one at that. Will had not been to the castle since Marian's return, and hadn't the slightest clue as to where her chambers would be. Not only was that a minor difficultly, but also the fact that she may not even be there.

Even if she was…would there be a chance of finding Robin? He let out a sigh, coming to a pause and giving the other man a nod to assure him all was clear. Allan wasted no time in giving the door the slightest of knocks, before pushing his way in. He was back by his side a moment later shaking his head. "Nothing, room's empty."

"Is it hers?"

"Not unless Gisborne and the sheriff have her sleeping on the floor. That's what I'm saying, there's nothing in the room, apart from anyone."

Will nodded, understanding now as they moved on. They had searched every room they had crossed, and sooner or later their luck would run out. One of these doors was going to open to someone that would be able to see their scheme, their lies…Gisborne and the sheriff would not be long on getting on their tails then. They would be forced to flee, and with no sign of Robin it was not a comforting thought.

Coming to Nottingham had been a poor idea. Much was still nowhere to be seen, and now their leader had disappeared. They were treading a dangerous path even now and there was no hope in sight. Will would forever carry the blame if something ill turned out in the end indeed. He let out a bitter sigh, pushing the thoughts back in his mind. He did not need them clouding his judgment. Playing the blame game now would not help anyone.

They came to another door, Will surveying his surroundings before giving a nod. Allan wasted no time, following the same procedure as before. He had barely knocked, ready to push his way in, when Will first heard the steps. A quick nudge from him, and the pair stepped back into the shadows, both holding their breath as the form approached. It would not do them well to be discovered down here.

Yet the fear lessened upon seeing who it was. The lone figure walked with a slow stride, as if trying to waste time, each step slower than the one before. Her head was lowered, eyes trailing over the stones in the floor, hardly aware of what was around her. Checking to ensure that she was alone, Will moved out to intercept her.

She was startled. That was a given ; Will would be as well if the shadows produced someone he was not expecting. At first she did not see through his guise, giving Will ample promise that Allan's idea had indeed been a wise one. But her features softened when she met his gaze, only to turn into worry the next moment.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

He pulled her to one side, so that they would be safe from any wandering eyes. "It's Robin," he whispered.

"Is he alright?"

"We dun know," Allan responded, moving a step closer to them. "We thought he went off to see you."

"He was here," she confirmed their suspicions with a slight nod, "but he left hours ago. You did not see him?"

"We were to meet in town; he never came," Will bit his lip, his hopes falling . He was out of ideas. Marian would have surely heard if something had happened.

"Come with me," she nodded to the pair. "We mustn't be found like this. It would only raise suspicions."

Part of him wanted to stop her, but she was gone before he could he even muster a single word. It was here that they were the safest, for if anyone did chance upon them they could pretend that they were only passing. If things did happen to fail, then their way of escape was easy. The corridors were open, providing a multitude of rooms to hide in, and open windows to escape from as well. Anywhere else did not hold so much promise.

Allan was the one to take the lead, Will following close on his heels. Marian was just as cautious as they had been, pausing to peer around corners before skirting across one of the final ways. She pressed open the door, beckoning them inside. No sooner had they had done so, she slid the door closed, letting out a quiet sigh.

"So this is where they've been keeping you," Allan remarked with a slight smirk. "Fancy."

"I'm a guest, not a prisoner," she warned him bitterly. Her tone changed just then, softening. "You are safe here. Gisborne knows that I will take some time before I return."

"We won't stay long," Will reassured her. The last he wanted to do was bring her any harm. The faint imagery of being caught in here would not bode well for her, and Robin would not be so eager to forgive if something ill befell her because of their actions.

"Tell me about him," she shook off his comment. "When was the last you saw of him?"

"This morning. After we searched the dungeons…"

"For Much…" she nodded, worry creasing her face. "He told me. I spoke with him here, just before noon. Our conversation was cut short when Guy intruded. He was gone though, and I've been with Guy ever since. He has not left to attend to any business. Nor has the Sheriff. I would have heard if something had happened."

Will had thought as much. Still it was difficult to accept the truth as it was. Not knowing anything was harder than knowing something. It was hard to believe that in under a day's time their group had diminished in size by almost half. With no trace of where anyone had gone.

"It does not feel right," she whispered, looking at the pair of them. "There was reason to worry when he explained about Much, but now that he is gone as well…I think there is something afoul. We'll do better if we split up. We can cover more ground that way."

"We? What's this we business?"

It was Allan that had asked the question, but Will was nodding right alongside of him. It was too risky to ask Marian to participate. "We cannot risk involving you."

"Then you shouldn't have come," she smirked at them.

"Not being funny, alright, but what are going to tell Gisborne? Wasn't he expectin' you or something?"

"I'll send one of my maids to bring news that I am feeling ill…at this moment it isn't exactly a lie."

"And then one of the guards will see you in the marketplace, or another village, then what will you tell him?" He was trying anything now to get her to change her mind. He knew Marian was capable of taking care of herself; she fought as well as they did, perhaps even better at times. Still it was no reason to get her entangled into the mess they found themselves in.

"They won't, because I'll be going as the Nightwatchman."

There was a part of him that already knew this, still he couldn't help but nod as she turned away from him. She was reaching under her bed, pulling free the bundle that was tightly wrapped. It wasn't long before the garments were laid spread on the bed, Marian reaching to unclasp the top of her dress. She paused, frowning at the pair. "Would you mind? Turn around...both of you."

"Oh," he felt himself choke out the word, his cheeks reddening as he did so, giving her the bit of privacy she had requested. It was awkward, Will trying to keep his mind busy by tracing the cracks in the wall that was in front of him as the woman discarded one wardrobe for the other only a few steps behind him.

The mere situation, though not the same, enticed him to remember the first time he had found out Djaq was actually a woman. He hadn't meant to catch her unawares, only to pass along a message. At first it had been strange, uncomfortable even. His life had been so filled with one thing or another that he had never even thought about women before.

Normally one at his age would be married by now. Would have already taken a wife, would most likely even have a child or two. But thoughts of family had never before entered his mind. Until that night…Djaq had plagued his thoughts, and at times he couldn't help but feel that it was wrong. That somehow it was a sin.

She was not a Christian, and in truth was the same enemy his people were fighting across the seas. Yet every time he looked at her, every time she spoke, it was like a feeling he had never before felt. He wasn't able to explain it, but with each passing day he wanted nothing more than to be near her. He felt guilty, even now, being here while he had left her behind.

He pushed away the thoughts, knowing that the Saracen could take care of herself. At Marian's beckoning he turned back around, seeing her clad in the common garb of the mysterious phantom that had for so long been a helpful ally to the people of Nottinghamshire. Though he was still against this idea, of her helping them, he had to admit that seeing her like this was comforting. It would bring everyone hope to know that the Nightwatchman had returned.

"There's a feast being held in the Great Hall; a courtesy of the sheriff, none-the-less. We can avoid most of the guards easily if we take to the outer corridors. It will be longer, but at least we shouldn't have trouble. When we get to the market we can meet up with the others, and go from there."

He still felt that it was too dangerous, yet could only wonder when she had bestowed herself as leader out of all of them. He was going to argue, to bring about his point once more when he first heard it. At first he suspected that he was just hearing the bits of wind that brushed by outside, but it came again. And it was most distinctively a voice.

It was foolish to admit to such nonsensical things; hearing voices was the plight of a madman, or a drunken one that had finally been tossed from a tavern. It sent a chill down his spine, the sound hollow, almost restrained, like a figment of one's imagination. Still, when he traded looks with the others he knew that they too were hearing the odd jumble of words. Was it possible to imagine all of the same thing?

"It's coming from inside," Marian whispered, pulling off her mask as she glanced around. "No one was under the bed…"

"The chest," Will nodded next, taking a slow step forward.

"You locking people up now?" Allan wondered. It earned a growling look from the both of them. The other man only shrugged his shoulders, putting up an innocent face in return.

"I have the key, somewhere," she muttered, turning to her bed, pawing through the discarded robes. She left in frustration then, searching her bedside table. With the smallest of smirks she held it up to show them, moving towards the chest then.

Will stopped her before she could arrive. "I'll do it. There's no telling who it is, and if they happen to see you…"

Surprisingly she nodded without argument. He took the key from her hand, moving the rest of the way. With a single click the lid came free, Will holding the hilt of his sword tightly in case he should have to use it. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Robin was not one of them.

The man blinked wearily, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the light. There was a mixture of relief, and sheer curiosity as to how he had ended up in there. "Have you been in here this entire time?"

The man could only nod, grunting as he grasped the hand offered to him. Will helped him to his feet, Robin letting out a breath as he stood hunched over, trying to stretch his aching form after being cramped up for so long.

"I thought you had left," Marian huffed bitterly from where she stood.

"I tried," Robin finally managed to sputter, straightening up then. "Too many guards outside. I had to do something."

"You had us worried."

The archer grimaced, running his hands along his legs. "You were worried? Try being trapped in a box for a few hours. See how worried you are then."

"You were the one that chose to get inside," she spat at him. "Next time try hiding somewhere you can get back out of by yourself."

"I did not have the luxury of choosing."

"Look, we've done what we came to do. Let's not argue about it," Will cut the feuding pair off before anything could escalate. A ruckus would not bode well for anyone. Drawing the attention of guards into a room with three outlaws and the famed Nightwatchman was not the wisest of decisions.

Marian was the first to nod, her eyes still trained on Robin. "He's right. Though we still need to get you out of the castle; wait here."

There was no arguing as she left, opening the door only wide enough to slip through and disappear. Robin was still content on stretching his sore muscles, as if trying to relieve the cramps that had settled there. He was fighting off a yawn as well.

"Did you fall asleep in there?" Allan wondered. Robin let out a small nod, his cheeks turning the slightest hint of red, prompting Will to smile. He was glad their leader was alright, but even more relieved that Marian would not have to endanger herself.

"There really wasn't much else to do in there," he confessed.

"Then next time you'll think twice before deciding to play dress-up in my undergarments," Marian chided him as she moved back into the room.

"I wasn't playing dress-up," Robin defended himself, even as she plopped the helmet on his head. He reached up with both hands, turning the guard's helmet around so that he could see. "Besides, if you weren't too busy wooing Gisborne then maybe you would have kept to your room and heard me calling for help."

"I wasn't wooing Gisborne," she shot the man a frown, handing him the rest of the clothes. "Put these on. You should be able to get out without incident."

He nodded, taking the clothes that were provided and changing into them quickly. In a short time he too was clad as another castle guard. They had to be quick though, not only for their sakes, but for Much's as well. Will had not forgotten that was the reason they had originally come to Nottingham. He could not so easily forget.

"Take care not to be seen," she warned them as they slipped through the door and out into the open corridor. It was Robin that paused, turning back to warn her all the same.

"Take care as well. The Nightwatchman cannot be seen at the castle."

"I can take care of myself, just go," she urged him. Will grasped the other man's arm, a slight indication that the time to go had come. They could not afford to linger any longer. With a nod Robin took the lead, the door closing behind them. For now, they were just a group of guards, moving through the castle, going about their rounds.

**TBC**


	6. A Clue

**Sorry about the wait, things have been pretty busy. Let me know if you're still reading. Thanks goes to Kegel for her help with this chapter and her beta as well. **

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**Chapter Six: A Clue**

Night had come and so with it the passing of the festivities. The lords and ladies that had attended had long ago returned to their villages, leaving the hall that was once filled with a jovial atmosphere in an eerie quietness. He brought the goblet to his lips, sipping the elegant liquid with slow movements before placing it back down on the table. The attempt to refill it was waved off, the servant bowing as she left. Gisborne knew that he could not afford to take much more wine before his head did him in.

The rest of the dishes were being cleared, the clattering of plates and the sound of footfalls reverberating about them in the large empty room. He risked a glance across the table, spying the sheriff who seemed to sit in a locked trance, his gaze fixed straight ahead but it was clear the man was not looking at anything in particular. Part of him wondered how long it would last.

There were no secrets as to the sheriff's moods as of late. The man had been mostly irate, unpredictable. Every whim was fulfilled without complaint or a moment's hesitation due to fear of what repercussions would result otherwise. It was shameful to admit, but Guy of Gisborne actually felt a little sympathetic to those that tended the man on a regular basis. Only the day before a simple serving boy had been thrown in the dungeons to the mercy of the jailer. It was by Marian's prompting that Guy had taken it upon himself to spare the boy any torture. Luckily on his part, the new jailer the sheriff had acquired after Hood had the last one hung was not the smartest of creatures, and had actually believed his far-fetched lie that the orders to let the boy be had come from the sheriff himself.

The very thought of Marian made him wince a little, prompting him to take another sip of wine. She had not returned, and when he had asked after her the only response he had received was that she was sleeping. Being who he was, he could have very well demanded she come straight away, even going as far as fetching her himself, but he still felt guilty for what had transpired earlier that evening.

It was not his choice to have her come. That had been the sheriff's idea. The man had gone on about how it was important for the future Lady of Gisborne to understand all that transpired in his stead. Guy had been too fearful to argue on that matter, and had agreed. Part of him wondered if he had agreed simply because he wanted to spend time with her. Time was not something he had as of late. Not with the sheriff hounding him so.

Hood's escape had not been anything out of the ordinary. Robin, of course, had done so many times before. This was not the reason for the sheriff's foul mood. It was the humiliation the man had suffered. Not only had he been swindled, but restrained, in his own bedchamber even more so, as he watched his fortune disappear bag by bag. The blame, of course, had been transferred over to Guy . The sheriff would never acknowledge his own failures, instead insisting that some part of it was somehow Gisborne's instead. Gisborne took the blame without question; it would not serve anyone, least him of all, to argue against it.

"Have you heard the news, Gisborne?" The sheriff asked quietly, speaking for the first time since the last of the guests had departed the Great Hall.

"What news is that milord?"

He tried to sound interested. This was the game they had played so often in the past, but it was even more important now. There was no telling how long this subtle mood would last, but it would do well to stretch it as long as possible. Even Gisborne had assumed the man would be over this trifle matter by now, but part of him feared he would not until the score had been evened. And he had every right to be worried; most of these hair-brained schemes the sheriff came up with involved him in one way or another.

"I had a little bird tell me something interesting today," the man continued, flicking a fallen grape across the table. The fruit scattered across a few forgotten plates, coming to a rest a few feet from where Gisborne sat.

"What news did he bring?" he reached out to pick up the grape, dropping it into the palm of a servant girl that was passing by. He knew the sheriff received information from the Captain of the Guards; at times it was a sting to his own position. He could just as well deliver wanted information as the next person, but too often Vaysey wanted him at his beck and call, and treated him more like a personal servant than the Master-at-Arms.

"He told me that there were outlaws in Nottingham today. Outlaws, Gisborne…now tell me how that could be?"

"Obviously they were here to pass out goods and supplies," he replied with a shrug. "The peasants will have enough to pay taxes for sure. Shall I make my rounds first thing in the morning?"

"No, you blubbering fool," the man sneered, shooting a scowling look his way. "They were here because of you! I had them, all of them, in my clutches. And your incompetence allowed them to escape!"

And so they were back to this. Guy nodded an apology, taking another sip of wine, drowning the last few drops. It did nothing but serve to further his aching head, making him wish he had been more careful earlier that evening. Yet it did not help things that the sheriff was still fuming.

"Outlaws, Gisborne, in my town, in my shire. IN MY CASTLE . Now tell me, why were they in my castle? Certainly not to steal any more silver, because they've already done that. And they never came to the little party I had. Tell me, Gisborne, I want to know what reasons they would have to be here in the castle!"

"With all due respect, milord, but maybe your informant was mistaken. It is unlikely that Hood and his men slipped in here without anyone's knowledge."

"Of course not," the man snapped, a bitterly sarcastic tone lingering in his voice. "It is, after all, positively impossible for them to do such a thing. Why would Robin Hood wish to remain inconspicuous when slipping into the castle?"

"Forgive me, milord," Gisborne corrected himself, knowing what the sheriff was grinding at. "I merely meant that the guards were plentiful, as you ordered. Surely they would have seen something. And if they were about, they would have, as you said, done what they could to rescue the men on trial."

"Yet they did not, tell me why they did not? Why is it, that every time we are a step ahead, we come to find out that we are behind?"

He bit his lip to keep from answering how he saw fit. There were reasons, many reasons that Locksley was still alive to this day. Mostly he blamed it on the sheriff, on the games of cat and mouse the man enjoyed playing. If it were not for this…fetish, then the outlaw, the rebel, would have long been dead and their lives all that less miserable.

That answer would never be accepted. It did not matter in what way it was said, or for how many times. As sheriff, Vaysey would never take the blame. He was free of that responsibility, and it would only fall to the second-in-command. Which, in essence, was him.

"I'm waiting, Gisborne."

"It appears that Hood is good at guessing," he finally sputtered, unsure how to truly answer. "In the morning I will take a group of men and search the forest. We will bring this to an end; Hood will pay for…the misfortunes that have come about from his deeds."

"What good would that do? Hood has never fallen in our trap before, why would he do so now? No…it is something else. Someone here is feeding him information."

He looked up, in ultimate surprise at the suggestion. Such a thing was not unheard of, but highly unlikely. After the instance of that one guard having sided with Hood and his men, Gisborne had taken it upon himself to finely tune his men. True, his tight reign on them had loosened a little, his priorities slipping with the return of Marian, but he doubted that it was enough time for any of them to stray into treacherous deeds.

"What news do you have, what proof, if I might inquire?"

"Proof? There's enough of that around, can't you see? Someone told Locksley, told him of our little secret, of our plan. How else did he know that we were tricking him? How else could he remember so well?"

"His men…"

"Someone told his men. How else do you think they told him? How else did they set up the elaborate plan to ambush me? To dress and strut about as a lord, to tie me in my bedchambers…" the man let out a sigh, composing himself. His voice was quiet when he spoke next.

"I want you to find out who it is. When you do, I want them brought to me. We'll make a lesson out of this…informant. This traitor. A lesson that no one shall forgot, or question, when straying between loyalties."

Gisborne nodded, still unsure of the accusation. Yet who was he to argue with an order given to him directly from his superior? Quietly he excused himself, drawing from the table and leaving the other alone in the room. It was a shock; that much was to be sure. But part of him was glad. For it meant that the man's attention was drawn elsewhere, and perhaps for once, Gisborne would be able to attend to more private matters without the constant hounding.

The only question that remained was trying to flush out who was the guilty one. He knew that if one was not found, then one would have to be provided falsely. The sheriff would settle for nothing less.

* * *

Their supper was meager. So many times had the preparation of food fallen to only one of their members it was as though the rest were out of touch from it. As though they had forgotten how to do so. Yet he knew that wasn't the reason. Though none of them had properly supped throughout the day, hunger was not present as the sun fell from the sky. Their spirits were dampened, though none as much as Robin's.

After Nottingham, they had scoured the villages, passing to and fro the question of their outlaw's disappearance. It proved a futile effort; none of the peasants had seen anything. Nor had there been any talk about anyone being taken prisoner. It was upsetting to start with, yet as they moved from one village to the next it simply became frustrating.

Passing from Locksley left them with nothing more to do than to return back to camp empty-handed. Robin had said nothing on the way back, and sticking true to his silent resolve the man had seated himself on the ground near the fire, and had yet to move.

He was not familiar with what the two had been through. Will knew that the history between Robin and Much was long, and deep, and could only relate to the sudden disappearance of the man with that of his father and brother. Yet at least he knew they were well, and knew where they had gone. He could not imagine the upset it would cause if he did not know these truths.

There was nothing said for the longest of times. Everyone pretended to be busy with one meaningless errand or another, passing their own fleeting glances in their leader's direction. They were all worried, but whether for Much's unexplainable departure, or Robin's well being, Will could not say. Even he had kept his hands busy, but after securing the sides of the camp for the fifth time in a row he finally came to conclusion that nothing more could be done.

"We should be out looking." He could stand the silence no longer. Something had to be done, and sitting there at camp hoping and brooding would accomplish nothing.

"For what?"

It wasn't the question that startled him so much as the tone it was asked in. Will found himself momentarily lost for words, put off by the bitterness that had come from the other. He had assumed, more than anything, that Robin would want Much found. Perhaps it wasn't that surprising, now that he thought over it. Robin's mood had quickly dwindled over the course of the day, apparently just now hitting the very bottom. Still it angered him; angered him because he knew that something was wrong, and that Robin was simply giving up.

"Much is out there; he may need our help."

"And he may not," Robin answered back, turning to look at him.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Leave it to Allan to voice the very thoughts he could not say. Will was grateful he had; the words that had lingered in his mind were not as kind. He watched as Robin shifted, turning to look at the others before his gaze fell. There was something muttered, but so quietly that it was missed.

"What?"

"It's nothing," Robin cleared his throat, moving to his feet. He wrapped his cloak about him tighter, as if to chase away the chill that was creeping into the air. "We should get some sleep."

"Sleep?" Will wondered, shaking his head then. "How can you think of sleep? Much is…"

"Not here."

Again he found himself for a loss of words. He studied the other man for a moment, his brow furrowing. "You heard something," he stated matter-of-factly. "What did you find out?"

He wanted to know, despite the fact he feared to hear the answer. Yet surely if something ill had befallen the man Robin would have been the first to say so, rather than keep it to himself. He waited for an answer, but all Robin gave him was the simplest shake of his head.

"We should keep looking," Djaq mentioned quietly.

"Look if you wish," the man answered, "it will not do you any good."

"Robin," John spoke for the first time, quiet but firm. The tone of voice that he used when he was serious. "We'll find him."

"No, you won't."

Will was surprised to say the least. The others were as well, the fact given away by the murmurs , the gasps. There had been some speculation, none of them denying the possibility of what they feared, but to so readily accept it…it made no sense…unless…

"What did you hear?"

Robin was shaking his head, but he let out a sigh as he answered. "He left."

"What do you mean by that?" Allan wondered. It made Will curious as well.

"He's not in Nottingham, nor around any of the villages. I spoke with Marian earlier in the day…she thinks he might have gone off on his own. I think she's right."

"Not being funny, but Much wouldn't have left on his own."

There were sounds of approval, others agreeing to what Allan had said. Will hadn't thought of that possibility; there was no way it could be true. The others were right…had to be right. What reasons would the man have to leave?

"Robin, I do not think…"

"Why would it not be possible?" Robin wondered then, glaring from one to the next. "It is not the first time any of you have thought about it, and some of you have done so."

"Well yes," Will agreed, knowing he could not deny that fact. He had been angry when he left Robin; angry and hurt. Their time away, split into two groups hadn't lasted long. "We came back."

"We're better off without him," Robin voiced then. His expression fell in the next moment, his voice growing softer. "I do not blame him though. Living here in the forest is less than desirable; always cold, always hungry, prices on all our heads. I only wonder why he did not leave sooner."

It was unnerving; as though Robin was speaking of the dead. It made no sense. For others, there was a motive behind certain actions. Money and wealth namely for some, family for others. Much had neither; Robin _was _his family. He would not willingly leave Robin, hadn't left Robin even after the man had ordered him to do so. If it had not been for Much's persistence, along with slight encouragement from John, then Robin would have hanged that one day so long ago.

And now the man was willing to give up on such a friendship so easily. It made little sense, but at the same time it was difficult to convince Robin otherwise when the man had his mind set. Whether it was true, or because this added blow was too much to bear, Will could not be certain. He could easily remember what Robin had said: he couldn't lose Much as well. And despite the others being there, they were no replacement for a love and an old friend.

He was contemplating on how to argue about it. On what to say to get the other thinking. Robin enjoyed puzzles, enjoyed winning. All that was needed to be done was to convince him that this was just another game. Something that needed to be taken on and solved. Will never had the chance to say so, or to even start the conversation when the first indication came.

There were always noises in the forest. They were not the only ones living there. The forest was home to an abundance of animals, from the small rodents such as mice and squirrels to the larger hoofed animals like deer and on occasion boar. It was rare for them to wander this close to camp though, the scent of man enough to scare them away. The quick footfalls through the brush, the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaf-filled limbs were first thought to be such a creature.

But the more Will listened to it, the more he realized that it was not just any creature that was taking flight through the forest. It was a person, and they were close. The others heard it as well. He could see the looks on their faces, the firelight dancing against their skin and shinning off their eyes. From beneath his cloak, Robin pulled free his dagger, the small weapon becoming his latest fashion ever since acquiring it from Gisborne.

It did not take long for the others to follow suit, filing out of the camp one by one and following the departing figure. Whether the person in question had seen the camp or not was completely up in the air. But it was far too risky to just allow someone skitter this close and leave unhindered.

* * *

Perhaps it was foolish to hope that it was Much, but Robin could not help the thoughts that sprang into his mind. He didn't dare voice them, for more than one obvious reason, the most being that he did not want to distract his men from the current task.

One of the greatest risks in acquiring a permanent camp was being found out. It was not often that a traveler passed within distance; they had made sure of that fact before even building their home. Still, it did not mean that it could not happen, and anyone finding it would not hesitate in squandering its location in order to earn a small fortune. Some could be trusted; but the question of who was a tricky one, and it made the difference between life and death.

They split into groups, just as they had done so many times before, each taking a different route to track the fleeing figure. The simple act dampened his hopes, for if it indeed had been Much returning, why then would the man flee? Unless of course he didn't wish to be seen, but even then it made little sense. Much had nothing to fear, and no reason to hide himself.

Though it could have been as Marian had said before. The repercussions of his latest injury were still fresh in his mind, of what he had done and had nearly accomplished. Along with the terrors of war that flooded his dreams at night came new images of Much's face, the confusion and fear as the blade had drawn near. The imagery nearly made Robin sick, and without a doubt the man held a grudge against him to some degree, despite how Much protested against it. After all, who wouldn't? The man would be a fool not to.

Yet the thought of Much leaving had never entered Robin's mind until Marian had brought it up. He didn't want to think of it. The feelings of betrayal were far too deep, despite the fact that Much owed him nothing. In truth, it was the other way around. It was he who owed the man everything. Owed him for not only for being there over the years, but for simply being a friend.

Robin knew that he didn't treat him right; it was difficult to. His younger years were filled with elders pounding the basics into his head, of informing him that servants were servants, and Lords did not mingle with such people. They found other Lords and Ladies to converse with, and interacted with them. Robin was often criticized for his decisions involving others, and was in a constant battle between doing what was expected, and what he wished to do.

He had gotten better, that he would admit, but still was far from perfect. Robin preferred to not to dwell on his true feelings, and even less to express them, whereas Much was quite the opposite. He spoke his mind, and announced his feelings. A coming realization then that it was very easy to believe that Much had indeed left. Robin still did not like the idea of it. Part of him would always hold that against the man; if they were ever to meet again.

He crouched near a tree, eyes searching in the darkness for the one who was working to get away. Robin could not help but start as a hand fell on his shoulder, calming when Will moved next to him, a finger up to his lips. He was mildly irritated that the other man had not stayed with Djaq, as per usual, but he was also grateful for the company. Normally it was Much who backed him up, following him wherever he went. With the man gone, the knowledge that someone was there to help him if events should call for it was a welcoming feeling.

"It can't be him," Will muttered quietly, Robin nodding in silent agreement though no name had even been said. Now he did not feel like such a fool for the thought having entered his mind. It made things all the worse, however. Whoever it was, would more in likely find themselves in for a rude awakening. He was good at convincing men to still their tongues, but tonight he felt himself lacking in words, and the fear that blood would coat the woods tonight was a very real possibility.

"Robin?!"

He was moving when the call came, Will on his heels. Allan and the others were not too far off, standing in the midst of one of their runs. Robin first thought the trail had been lost; that the person had managed to get away. But as he drew near he could not only see him, but hear him as well.

"He's nothing but a boy," Will remarked, letting out a breath. True enough the child could be no more than eight summers, fighting with a ferocity of one much older. Allan kept an easy, yet firm, grip on the child's arm, allowing the boy to struggle.

"Let me go!"

"No one's going to hurt you," Allan prompted, grabbing the swinging fists with his free hand.

"That's what they said, too," the boy spat, trying desperately to pull free. "Let me go, or you'll be sorry. Robin Hood will rescue me, just like he did earlier!"

"Robin Hood, you say?" It intrigued him. Robin drew closer, dropping down into a crouch so he could see the boy easier. It wasn't the first time his name had been thrown around in threats. He was quite certain that it wouldn't be the last either. But sometimes a simple lie had a partial truth to it, and he was interested to hear the rest.

"He saved me," the boy nodded, having stopped his struggles periodically. His face was dirty save for the streaks that crossed his cheeks. Without a doubt this child had spent a better part of his time crying. Robin had already jumped to the conclusion that the boy had lost his way, and was using the story to ward off any danger. It was smart, he had to admit.

"Well, you're in luck," Robin gave him a smile, a devious grin. It was such a small thing, but it occupied him, kept his mind off current matters. "I happen to know Robin Hood; I'm a good friend of his. If you like, I can show you where he lives. Get you out of this cold, perhaps something to eat as well."

There was no immediate response, the boy searching his eyes and then looking at the others. For a while he seemed to consider it, but if Robin was right in conclusion, then it had been some time since the child had last eaten. And there was no stronger temptation than the promise of warm food for an empty stomach.

"Really?"

Robin nodded at the question, moving only when the boy agreed. The hike back to camp wasn't long, nor was it difficult, and once seeing the camp, any edginess the child held before was gone immediately. The look in his eyes was a similar one Robin had seen before, the same excitement seen in many boys when they held their first weapon. Djaq wasted little time in covering him up with a blanket, and moving to make some easy food.

Robin set down his own weapons, leaning against the wall, his attention turned back to the boy. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Thomas," he replied, taking the bowl that was passed to him. True enough he must have been hungry, for he was eagerly devouring it.

"What were you doing in the forest?" Djaq wondered, asking the very question that had been lingering on Robin's mind. "It can be dangerous, you know."

"I was runnin' away," Thomas stated in between spoonfuls, "then I changed my mind."

So he was a runaway; that was intriguing. When they had scoured the villages earlier, there had been none claiming about a lost child. "Where do your parents live?"

"Dun' know," he answered with a shrug. "I was found; they took me to the orphanage. They have no idea who they were."

"The orphanage?" Allan frowned, glancing up from where he sat. "I heard something about that, when I was…"

"When you were what?" Robin finally asked after several seconds had gone by. The man blushed, stammering as he shook his head.

"It's probably not important, really, what do I know?"

"Something, obviously," he answered back. "Tell me."

"Funny yeah, but you'll be angry."

"I'll be even more upset if I find you're hiding something from me."

The man seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding. "Alright, fine. I heard from another over some cards, he was…"

"Cards?" Will interrupted. "You went to the tavern? Was that why we couldn't find you earlier?"

Robin cleared his throat, catching both of their attention. He wasn't thrilled about the revelation, but he also knew that he could not keep tight reigns on all of his men. If Allan wished to drink and swindle himself into a folly then that was his own choice. Even more so, Robin was interested in what the other had to say.

"As I was sayin'," Allan continued once Will had turned away. "This man there, playing cards with me, right? He starts tellin' me about these two men, causin trouble and whatnot. They were lookin for the orphanage, wanting children for something."

"Yes," Thomas agreed eagerly. "They did show up," he used the crude wooden spoon Will had made to point it at Allan. "Lady Alice sent them away. She wouldn' let any of us talk to them. But I heard they were searchin for treasure. They wanted me to go along."

Robin wasn't liking the story, an odd array of images flashing through his head as he sorted things out. It was unwelcome enough for trouble to be caused, but when it involved children it became disturbing. "Allan…did your 'friend' happen to know these men?"

Allan shook his head, "He said they were strangers, not from around here."

"The big one was called Dax…" Thomas piped up as he clutched the bowl. His face tightened, expression changing as he seemed to think. "The other…his name was…Eloy! That's it."

That rung no clear bell in Robin's mind. He wasn't sure if that was a comfort or not. He would place blame on the sheriff; but usually the man liked to work within his realm. It seemed that these men were coming from elsewhere, taking orders from another master. But what would they possibly want with children?

"What are you thinking, Robin?" Djaq wondered quietly.

"Robin?" the boy sputtered. The small dark eyes watched him, a mixture of surprise and enlightenment. "You're Robin Hood?"

He smiled, nodding in return. It would be a lie to admit that he didn't enjoy the attention. Being revered as hero day to day was part of the reason why he kept going, even in times when things seemed so bleak.

"And these…" Thomas trailed off, looking at the others. "All of you are Robin's outlaws?"

Another nod, Robin smiling still as his mind turned back to more important questions. They needed to find out who these two were, and why they were all the sudden so interested in the orphanage. He had heard of grisly tales, of children being snatched and sold off as slaves. Perhaps it still was of the sheriff's doing, a way to rid of the populace unnoticed, to wipe out what was considered by some a loss of profit.

"But wait," the boy shook his head, catching his attention. "Where's the other? I don't see him at all."

"Who?" Djaq wondered, handing the boy yet another bowl of stew to eat.

"The one who saved me earlier. He said he was with Robin. I dun remember his name…but he was wearing a funny hat…"

Robin felt his heart sink. For the first time since finding the boy his memory came back in a rush, along with a new feeling of dread. There was no doubt who the boy was speaking of, and Robin could not be sure if he was happy to hear news, or dreading to hear what was about to come.

"Where?"

The word was barely breathed. Everyone had gone quiet as well, causing the boy to shift slightly, apprehensive now. "On the road…they, the men, they wouldn' let me go. He saved me, that other man. Made me hide, said he would come back and get me. He never did though…and I was getting hungry…and scared."

"You are not in trouble," Djaq was quick to reassure the boy, whose voice had gone from confident to a scratchy whine.

Robin hardly noticed, hardly paid any heed. His mind was on fire, thoughts mingling with one another so quickly he was afraid they would burst into flames and be lost altogether. So Much hadn't left; he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or in Thomas' case, the right place and time. Quickly he wet his lips with his tongue, daring to ask the next question.

"Thomas…this is really important. Do you remember where he saved you? Where he had you hide?"

The child was biting his lip, trying hard to think, but the tears that were starting to form in his eyes were not favoring anyone. "I wasn'…I was scared, and it was dark. I just ran…"

"In the morning," Djaq spoke up, her voice quiet. "When it is light again, do you think you can find it?"

"Maybe…" Thomas muttered quietly.

Morning…that was hours away yet. Robin could not wait that long. Nor could he force a child who was worn to tromp through the forest trying to find a place he could not remember. The boy would need sleep first, and searching in the light was safer. But Robin's mind would not find rest tonight. He could not sleep knowing that there was a chance Much was hurt somewhere.

"I'll travel the road, head south. See if I can find anything."

They had not searched this area before. Robin had never speculated that Much would have stayed near the road. It was not a wise thing for any outlaw to do. But if Much had been drawn in by Thomas' predicament, then it would be easy to understand why he would have gone.

"I'll come with you," Will was already moving, grabbing his stuff. Robin wanted to argue, afraid of what would happen should they find the worst. But if luck was with them, and Much needed help, then Robin could not carry the man back by himself. Traveling in pairs would be safer at any rate.

Finally he nodded, biding the others to stay there and keep camp. The two took with them only meager items; Robin his bow and a few arrows, Will content with his small axe. As they left behind the sanctuary of the camp, the only thought that raced through Robin's mind was the hope that they were not too late.

**TBC**


	7. Arrival

**Sorry for the long delay, the holidays have been hectic. Hope you enjoy.**

**Thanks to Kegel for the beta **

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**Chapter Seven: Arrival**

The village wasn't bad. Certainly no Locksley, and nothing close to what Bonchurch was like. But it wasn't bad. Kind of nice, in fact, he mused. He had been able to see most of the village as they rode through. Walked…actually; Dax and Eloy had ridden. A day after his failed escape incident, the pair had decided Much was well enough to walk the rest of the way. And it had been a long way.

He had lost count of how many days had passed. By the time the night came round he was exhausted from not only the constant walking, but the limited food as well. Never had he felt so hungry, and even Dax's quiet apologies hadn't done anything to quell his aching stomach. Yet with the sight of the village he was both dismayed and encouraged.

Dismayed because he knew that this was the end. That whatever was in store for him was here, and he could say nothing against it. He had tried, and failed, these last days to convince them to turn away, to let him free. If he had not been successful then, why would he be successful now? But there was some hope.

Provisions had been minuscule on the road, but here in the village there was surely to be more food. Maybe he could have a proper meal for once. And in time, he mused, with some rational thoughts, could devise a way to escape. Or wait for rescue…Robin would find him. Robin had to find him…if his former master was alive, that was. He had to be. Much wanted to believe, more than anything, that Robin and the others hadn't fallen for any of the sheriff's trickery.

The thought remained with him as they made their way through the village. Before, when they had gone through other settlements, they had waited until nightfall, or had gone out of their way to avoid running into others. Yet now they had pranced through about in the open, during the midst of the day. There were a number of people about, focused on one task or another, every few glancing up as they rode by, but never saying anything.

"Doesn't matter if you call out," Eloy spoke just then, snapping Much from his thoughts. It was the first either of them had spoken that day. He gave the man a questioning glance, the very thought having just entered his mind. "They know their place. You'll learn yours soon enough."

"My place," Much announced loudly, so that the others would be able hear, "is back where you took me from."

"This is your home from now on," Dax broke in quietly. "You'll meet your new master, and learn the trade. Work hard, and you'll do just fine."

A new master? He could feel his heart sink just a little. Being taken away, sold and forced to work…that was something he could handle. Something he had done his entire life, so that in itself was no real difference. But to have a new master…

He could feel his heart skip a little, as if it had forgotten how to beat. There was worry there certainly, and fear. How could he have a new master? Robin was the only person he really cared about. How could he give the same level of devotion to someone he had never met before? Even worse, what if he was an unkind master? Someone like the sheriff or Gisborne, who enjoyed tormenting others and watching them suffer? What if he enjoyed watching his servants suffer?

No…he was certain the man wasn't like that. Dax would have said something otherwise. Surely he would have. The other man had always been nice…nicer, that was. The man had always seemed confident that doing this was the right thing to do…even if it was actually the wrong thing. His new master…perhaps he was good, perhaps he was like Robin. Maybe staying here wouldn't be so bad…

No…no; he couldn't let himself think like that. Robin _would _come. Robin _had _to come. Yet…even if the man wanted to find him, how would Robin know where to look?

It was difficult to banish the words from his mind. The same words Dax had said before. About people forgetting about the ones they cared about, about others not caring. Surely Robin would never forget him…and certainly he would care if the man knew what had happened. But that was the whole point; Robin didn't know what had happened.

He groaned inwardly, muttering about his own stupidity. Why had he gone off on his own? Why did he always have to do these silly things? Not that Robin's birthday was a silly thing, he knew. But couldn't he have told one of the others? Little John, Will or Djaq? Even Allan…well, perhaps not Allan, he decided. Allan would have most likely told the others, and then Robin wouldn't have been surprised anymore.

Still, he guessed a ruined surprised would have been better than this. Especially since Robin assuredly ended up with no surprise, not even a quiet birthday wish. None of the others had remembered the year before, and surely they did not do so this year either. He would have to make it up to Robin, he knew. If he ever got out of here, that was.

The village was left behind, much to his dismay, the lingering aromas of an early morning fast disappearing as they followed a path through the woods. They reminded Much of home, the stinging sensation proving that he was already missing the others. His eyes searched the woods, catching shadows that moved through the trees. At first he was hopeful, convinced that it was Robin and the others, that they had followed all this way, waiting only to come to his rescue at the proper moment.

If the deception came from the lack of sleep, or the growing hunger, Much could not tell. The shadows he saw were just that, and the further they went, the more his hopes dwindled. His thoughts changed, turning to more present matters as the pair ahead of him finally slowed the pace. A small thing he was thankful for, his legs already protesting the day's journey despite it having just begun. He could easily sleep for days, if anyone would let him do so, that was. Still, he let out a low whistle.

The house before them was more like a castle. Easily twice the length of Robin's manor, and perhaps the same for the width as well. As they came to a stop, Dax was the first to dismount, handing the reigns over to a boy who had run out to greet them. The rope was cut just above his wrists, leaving him still bound, but free from the horse.

Much didn't resist as he was led to the house, knowing that it would be a futile effort if he did try. Not only that, but he doubted anything good would come from it. And the smell…

He licked his lips as he was led inside, a more powerful, even more tantalizing aroma here than what they had encountered before. The time to break fast was still evident, and was being done so right at this moment. The old man hardly looked up as they came in, entranced instead on the plate before him.

"Good morning, Sir Alfred," Eloy presented the three of them, even consenting to a small bow. "I hope that we are not intru…"

"You're late," the man snapped, fishing another bit of meat from his plate.

"Forgive us," Dax apologized, one hand still wrapped about Much's forearm. "We ran into some complications. There is no need to worry; it has all been sorted out."

"I do recall specifically stating that I wanted boys…unless I am unexpectedly losing my sight, this _man _is no boy."

_Boys? _He could recall how Eloy had been upset about losing the boy. They had never said directly why. "Well then," he cleared his throat with the slightest of laughs. "Since I am…no boy…you can just let me go, I'll be on my way…"

The grip on his arm tightened, and a moment later Much could feel his throat do the same as the man glared at him. "I could very well have your tongue for speaking like that," the man warned.

"Oh," Much pressed his lips together tightly, not quite enjoying the imagery of that comment. He had seen people lose their tongues before…it hadn't been a pleasant sight. "In that case…I'll just…shut up…"

"We did have a boy," Eloy spoke up quickly, turning to stare at Much. "He got away…unfortunately. Nothing to fear, however, for this man here has voluntarily taken it upon himself to take the boy's place."

"I have done no such thing," Much started, unwilling to believe that they would lie about such a thing. The pressure returned to his arm, making him wince, along with another glare from Alfred. "I mean…yes…?"

"Out of all the blunders you could have made you decided to make them all?" Alfred wondered, his gaze shifting to the others. "Not only did you lose a boy, but you took in his stead the most irritating and annoying dunce that you could find."

"I'll have you know," Much pointed out, coming to a stop. "Well…not that you need to know or anything, but…"

He fell silent as Dax pulled his arm, the man whispering in his ear to hold his tongue. While Much didn't care for the idea, he knew that it was probably the wisest thing to do at the current moment. Near him the man shifted, still keeping a firm hold on him.

"He will learn. And you do need the help. Eloy and I can always return with some more boys, now that we know Nottinghamshire better."

_More boys? _They were planning on returning then…maybe somehow he could get a message back to Robin. He could feel his hopes returning for the first time since he had been taken hostage. If he was somehow to trick them, to have them deliver an inconspicuous message to someone, perhaps Marian…then she would surely tell Robin. And Robin would know that something had happened, would know that he had to follow the two, and would end up finding him…

"No," Alfred shook his head, letting out a grunt as he finished the last of his food. "You said you had a boy, that he got away?"

"Yes."

"Then that boy will tell others, and everyone will be all the more suspicious. A child's ramblings will be passed off as just that until the villains in his story show up. You will not return to Nottinghamshire, I forbade you. Now, get out of my sight, I have more important matters to attend to."

Much felt his heart sink, the idea he had just held had seemed so perfect. Now he had nothing, his hopes diminishing as the pair agreed to the new ruling. He couldn't even protest as Dax led him away, the man taking him to another room after following a confusing maze-like pattern. What was he to do now? He was so far away from Nottingham, Robin would most likely never find him.

He bit his lip as his bonds were cut, hands moving tenderly to massage the sore and swollen skin about his wrists. It was the first time since being taken that he was free…and at the same time he had never felt more trapped in his life. He could have easily attacked, Much decided, but at the same time he knew he would have not gotten far. Not only would he end up lost, but he presumed that Eloy wasn't too far behind.

"Here," Dax opened the chest that was on the floor, pulling something free. He turned and pressed a pile of clothing in his arms. "Change into these."

They were heavy, and rather bland in color. They also smelt old…musty…almost as if they had been worn before. Or perhaps never at all, locked away instead inside that chest for rats to nest in. He felt himself shudder. He hated rats.

"I actually prefer what I'm wearing now."

"You don't get a choice," Dax answered, digging through the chest some more. "Besides, you'll want to wear those when you go down there. Trust me."

"Down where?"

"Mine shafts," the man answered easily, pulling free some boots as well. "These may be small, but they'll have to do for now."

"Mine shafts?" Much shook his head. He couldn't mine…he didn't know how. Not only that, but he didn't like mines. They were too much like caves…and he didn't like caves. "Isn't there…somewhere else I could go? Like the kitchen! I'm a really good cook; I've had lots of practice!"

"Alfred doesn't need any more cooks. He needs miners. Now get dressed."

"I could trade with one of the cooks," Much offered, "I'm much better at cooking than mining."

"Get dressed," Dax warned him. The man let out a sigh shortly after, shaking his head. "Do not make this harder for either of us. I'll be outside the door, knock when you've finished."

There was little time left to argue, Dax excusing himself. Any hope of escaping was soon put out of his mind as he heard the key turn, signaling that this indeed was his fate. A quick glance around the room proved hopeless as well, with no window, and nothing to be used as a weapon save for the trunk filled with garments. The most he could amount to would be to smother someone with an old tunic...

With a sigh he dropped the clothes on the floor, moving to take off his shirt. He wasn't sure quite yet of what he would do. That would take time, and for now, all he had, was time.

* * *

He had wanted to see her. There was something about her that always took his mind away from such pressing matters. No…not just something…everything. The sound of her voice, the way her hair swayed from the bounce of her step, the piercing gaze of her blue eyes. She was his relief when the trials of every day became too much.

The decision was an easy one. Guy of Gisborne's day had started before dawn, having gone from one village to the next, attending to business and checking on Locksley Estate, the matters at the house and many other trivial nonsense that he saw little point in doing. Now that he had returned to Nottingham it was the only thing on his mind. Leaving his horse with a stable boy, he crossed the courtyard with ease, turning down the first passage he came to.

The thought had first crossed his mind on the way here, and now he was more than eager to see her. Already he could imagine a quiet supper, perhaps a walk after in the night air. It would help to clear his mind, and speaking with her would ease the troubles that reverberated through him. However, these thoughts died quickly as he turned the corner, coming to a near-stop to avoid running into the other.

"Milord," he stuttered quickly, partially taken by surprise and doing what he could to keep the irritation from his voice.

"Ah, Gisborne," the sheriff let out a breath, fingers clasped out in front of him. "Just the man that I longed to speak with."

"I only returned, milord," he apologized in return. Part of him wondered why the sheriff had come to seek him out, rather than passing his wishes along to one of the guards or servants. Surely they could have passed along the message just as well, leaving Gisborne to his own manner of things.

"Plans, Gisborne? You seem rather…anxious."

"I have just returned…"

"We've established that one already. Tell me, have you come up with any other brilliant conclusions that I should be aware of?"

He was not one to be made a fool of. Yet when it was the sheriff himself, what was there to be done? Vaysey could mock him till the end of time and there was nothing Gisborne could say against it. He could only smile, give out a nod as an apology, and correct himself so that he would seem not as simpleminded the next time.

"I only meant that you could not call upon me earlier since that I was away."

"I asked for a brilliant conclusion, not an obvious one," Vaysey whispered, clearing his throat in the next moment. "I may be mistaken, but the last time I checked, your chambers were on the other end of the castle. Tell me that I am wrong on this?"

"You are correct, milord. I was just on my way to speak with the Lady Marian. I have not seen her yet today, and wished to do so."

"Ah, the leper," the man smiled, frowning shortly after. "You should really find yourself a hobby, Gisborne. Such a waste…"

It was often that he found himself wondering about the man. Gisborne could not recall a single woman in which the sheriff held interest. The man himself had even vowed on more than one occasion that the female species was tiresome, and unappetizing. Of course, the sheriff had yet to meet anyone like Marian… Gisborne doubted that he ever would.

"What did you wish to speak of?"

"Nothing of importance really," the sheriff waved him off. "I just felt a tad bit lonely, and figured that an enticing conversation with my most loyal Master-at-Arms would cheer me up."

Gisborne raised an eyebrow, not bothering to explain that he was the only Master-at-Arms. Not only that, but the sheriff hardly sought him out simply to chat about trivialities.

"Oh, but please, carry on. Surely your…leper…is waiting for you as we speak."

"Yes, of course," he nodded, moving around the man. There was never really a time he felt comfortable in the man's presence, and that was even more true for these most recent of days, so it was a relief to be on his way. He had only managed a few steps, however, before he came to a stop, turning back around.

The sheriff only smiled at him, standing only a step behind now. Gisborne returned the awkward smile, turning back to his destination, coming to yet another stop as the steps sounded behind him. Letting out a sigh he turned back around to face the man. "Is there something milord wishes to be done?"

"Oh, Gisborne, don't mind me," the man waved him on, the smile still on his face.

"I wish to speak with Lady Marian…"

"I know, I know," the sheriff smiled. "It doesn't bother me, I don't mind."

He pursed his lips, wanting to point out that he wished to do so alone, but it wasn't his place to order the sheriff about. The conclusion came to his mind then that the sheriff was up to something, and had wanted his audience. Letting out a sigh Gisborne knew that his visit would have to wait.

"What is it that you want, milord?"

"Really, Gisborne. Is that all you think about? That every time I call for you, that I _want _something?"

That was the general idea, but Gisborne stopped himself from saying so. "Forgive me, milord. You just seemed anxious, and I wondered if there was anything I could do to ease your restlessness."

"There is nothing," the man smiled. "I am certain the leper is still waiting. Wouldn't want her to fret over your late appearance, would we?"

"No…" Gisborne nodded, resuming his earlier pace. This time he did not stop when the steps followed, forcing himself to continue. He despised the sheriff when the man played these games. He knew already now that any conversation he had with Marian would not be private, nor would it be lengthy. The simplest of manners would be to greet her, ask about her day, and then excuse himself. Gisborne knew he would have to return later, perhaps after the sheriff found some other poor unfortunate soul to occupy his time with.

He led the way, sheriff in tow, the man almost stepping on the heel of his boots. At her door he paused, grooming himself and taking care to make sure his appearance was acceptable. He heard the sheriff clear his throat behind him.

"Come on then. If your looks haven't frightened her away yet, they certainly aren't going to do so now."

It was a difficult task to remind himself to keep his tongue in check. Had it been anyone else, he would have challenged them. But this was the sheriff…

The knock sounded in the empty chamber, the quiet call from the other side of the door. All his thoughts left when she opened it, her smiling face greeting his. "Sir Guy…what do I owe to this visit?"

"Now, don't be rude," Vaysey called from behind, stepping up near him. "Gisborne's had a rough day, I think maybe you should invite him in."

There was a questioning look on her face, and Guy pleaded with her quietly, hoping that she would do well to remember his words from a few days earlier. Hoped that she could remember to not cross the sheriff, or put him off, no matter what crazy scheme he had up in his mind. His worry melted at her smile, and she stepped back, inviting the pair in.

"I just came to see how you were fairing," he announced softly once they were in. He had stayed near the door, one eye on the sheriff who took his time wandering to the window on the other side of the room. With each passing moment, Guy was beginning to worry more. It was bad enough when the sheriff involved him in his little schemes, but he could not bear it if the man included Marian in them as well.

"I am doing quite well, Sir Guy."

He saw her glance to where the sheriff stood, then turned back to him a moment later. "Is that the only reason you came?"

"I wanted to see you," he admitted, only now feeling a little foolish. It was difficult to express himself in this manner, for it was not something he was very well disciplined in. And with the sheriff's constant prattle about how woman were vermin, there was no one he could really practice with. Even worse, with the man's presence here, he could feel the words catching in his throat, and tumbling over his tongue on the way out. He sounded like a complete idiot.

"I find it amazing, don't you?" The sheriff spoke suddenly, coming back to the center of the room. "The amount of dedication he gives you, all the worry and time spent fussing over you…it's a miracle he gets anything done at all. You know…if he spent an ounce of attention to things that actually mattered…I think he would get so much more done, wouldn't you agree?"

"Milord…if you must speak of me, speak to me. I am standing right here," Gisborne reminded the main with growing irritation. Coming here had been a bad idea.

"Like for instance," Vaysey continued, ignoring the simple request, "we had a breach of security a couple of days ago…Hood and his men somehow slipped inside of my castle."

"Oh…" she was silent for a moment, then smiled, "is that so?"

"Lady Marian…" Guy started, growing infuriated now. This game had gone on long enough. But he wasn't able to finish, the sheriff holding up a hand as he spoke.

"She was not to be found when it happened. Amazingly enough…somehow…she managed to slip away…"

"From the dinner?" she wondered, frowning. "My head troubled me, I retired to my chambers. I beg your pardon if I offended you."

The man waved it away, smiling. "A minor trifle, I assure you. Nothing to worry over…unless…of course, there was that one other time…"

"Lady Marian seems weary," Guy stepped in, "we should leave so that she may rest."

"No, no, Gisborne. It's just coming back to memory now. It's on the tip of my tongue, oh now what was it? Ah yes…, that's what it was. Didn't she go missing before? About a month ago…when we had Hood under our spell? Someone told him about our plan…."

"We've been through this already, milord. One of Hood's men figured it out. It was a good plan, but it failed."

"Plan? What plan?"

The sheriff smiled, "Come now, Marian, there's no need for gullibility anymore. You claimed…that you were away in Knighton…"

"I was," she insisted.

"If Lady Marian says she was in Knighton…then she was in Knighton," Gisborne defended her. He was not liking how this conversation was going.

"Ah…but I checked myself…personally…no one even saw you there."

"It was my wish to remain unseen. I swore them to silence."

"Really? Because they were anything but silent…to the very last breath…"

There was silence in the room, Gisborne as stunned as Marian was perhaps. He hadn't thought anything of it when the sheriff had taken personal leave just the day before. Nor had he thought of it much when a round of guards had returned bathed in blood. Scoundrels…the forest…that was what they had claimed. Now he could only wonder.

"What have you done?" Marian breathed, the pain obvious in her voice.

"The more appropriate question would be what have you done? I find it simply astounding that each time Hood escapes…that you are somehow missing. You have quite a few aches and pains for someone of your age. Ailments that come and go for no reason at all. If I were you, I would certainly be worried. Yet you pass them off as trivialities…"

"I…"

"That's because that is what they are. Symptoms that only exist to aid you in your purpose. Tell me, Marian. You and Hood were once betrothed, were you not?"

"That was a long time ago," she stated firmly. "That time is well done with it. Perhaps his betrayal of me is what haunts me so, and causes me my grief."

"Or perhaps you are not as done as you claim. What would it mean to you, to slip a secret or two, to see your former beloved escape the hangman's noose?"

"I would not…"

"It was me, milord," Gisborne spoke up quickly. He cursed himself a second later, wondering only then to what he was trying to do. "I am the one who has been feeding Hood information, not her."

"You?"

He nodded, without hesitation. "I believe…well, Hood, if you think about it, is actually doing us a favor."

"….a favor?"

"Yes…we are able to collect the taxes…we are making money."

"The _money _that we collect, is the same _money_ that _Hood _steals from _us. _WE ARE NOT MAKING ANY MONEY THAT WAY!"

The last part had been screamed, causing him to wince. That was clearly a notion he could not argue against, for the truth was plain to see.

"Sometimes you give me concern to worry about you gravely, Gisborne," Vaysey sneered, his voice lowering. "Such as now…this…leper, you see before you. You do not see the clearest signs anymore, it is treason that is written all over her and her actions."

"No," Gisborne shook his head, glancing between the sheriff's calm face and Marian's worried one. What the sheriff was proposing was unreasonable. Marian had nothing to do with, she couldn't have anything to do with it. "It is not possible."

The sheriff stood there for a moment, and then he nodded. Guy could feel the tension ebbing away already, the relief taking over. He knew the sheriff was desperate to blame someone, and possibly was only blaming Marian in order to rile him. Now that the matter was over he would do well to warm Marian to watch her step. The sheriff did not favor his future bride, and this was obviously only the first attempt to rid of her.

The man turned then, walking to the door and motioning with his hand. In the next moment the room was filled, near half a dozen guards entering. "Take her to the dungeons."

"For what crime?!" Marian demanded, even as she was being taken into their hold. "You would detain me in the dungeons without any proof?"

"Milord!" Gisborne breathed, trying to step in to bring all of this to an end. The sheriff could not be serious in this matter.

"Keep you in the dungeons? Of course not," the sheriff smiled, a gleeful expression on his face. "You will hang at dawn."

**TBC**


	8. Trying Times

**Thanks goes to _Kegel_ for the beta. Let me know if you're still with me! Thanks :)**

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**Chapter Eight: Trying Times**

The dungeons were no strange place for her. She had been down here many times before, but never on this side. Always she had come down here by choice; to see Robin, his men, or to help in what way she could with one of their hair-brained schemes. It had always been a risk, one that she was willing to take. She had always known in the back of her mind that one day she would be found out. That one of her antics would take her too far and her guise would slip. Yet she never expected it to be like this.

The fact that she was a lady seemed to have no bearing whatsoever in the minds of the guards. They had even seemed to enjoy their task, handling her none too carefully as they escorted her to the cell. Unceremoniously she was shoved inside, tripping over the hem of her dress in the process. She caught herself on hands and knees on the hard floor, wincing from the contact. Before she had even managed to move to her feet the door was slammed shut.

Her voice was sore, from having called out, from denying the accusations. Some of it had been from surprise at the sudden turn of events, but more so came from the fact she held in her mind right now. That was the fact that the only thing the sheriff held against her was speculation. Until they had proof…she was innocent.

Picking herself up, she turned, gripping the bars and pressing her face between them, her breaths coming in short bursts as the torchlight flickered and disappeared. It was for real, something that was happening here and now, rather than the nightmare she had first suspected. She couldn't be left down here…Marian felt her breath returning as the darkness evaporated, another torch lighting the air. "Guy…"

"Marian…"

"I have done nothing, you must believe me." He was her only hope as of now. If Guy had lost faith in her, then there was little that could be done. Robin, she knew, would rescue her in time. Yet time was not something she had to spare. The sheriff had ordered for her to hang in the morning, and even if news were to reach Robin before then, she couldn't assume he would show up in time.

The man had been shaken by Much's disappearance, that she could see all too well, and no doubt that had become his first priority. He would be focused keenly on figuring out what had happened to the other, having no belief that something had gone amiss elsewhere. Somehow in her heart, Marian knew that by the time Robin heard of her imprisonment, it would be well too late.

"I know," Guy answered with a nod, gripping one of the bars with his hand. "You will not be in here for long. I will speak with the sheriff-"

"The sheriff is the one who put me in here," she reminded him. If that was what his plan was, there really was no hope. She knew the man would not change his mind. Guy had never been able to influence the sheriff one way or another before. Vaysey loved toying around with Guy, it was something Marian had seen more than once. The sheriff would certainly find this ordeal quite amusing, and Marian knew that she would only become a pawn in their game.

"His quarrel is with me," he emphasized, letting out a sigh just then. "He believes someone is informing Hood. I was supposed to find who, and I have not done so. That is why he's doing this. He believes me…distracted."

"And I am that distraction?" she knew that Gisborne had an obsession for her…perhaps an unhealthy one, but she failed to see how her imprisonment would improve that status.

"You are the future Lady Gisborne," he reminded her.

He didn't have to. She knew, perhaps better than he, that the wedding was to take place in only a few days time. The maid that tended to her talked of nothing else. They were to marry at Locksley, just like they had tried to do so before.

"So the sheriff has me locked away because I am to be married?" If it was not going to be one prison, then it would be another. This time physically rather than metaphorically. The prospect of the hangman's noose was an even less comforting notion though.

"I will get you out of here. Trust me."

It was the last he said, turning to leave her behind. It left her feeling none too comfortable. The sheriff would not hear out the man's concerns. Marian did not move even as the light faded, holding tightly to the bars. What would become of her?

It was not that she doubted Gisborne, for she knew the man would do everything in his power to convince the sheriff that he was wrong, but if Guy was right and the sheriff was doing this merely for amusement, then nothing would sway him. If Guy was wrong, and the sheriff truly suspected her, then the only future that awaited her was the hangman's noose.

Slowly she let go of the bars, moving to sit on the small bench that occupied the cell. There was a chill down here she was not prepared for, the thin cloth of her dress doing little to provide any real comfort. Yet it was not as if she had had any time to change. It was strange to think only a matter of minutes ago she had been planning on riding out, headed towards the forest in any hopes to help aid Robin in his search for Much. Now she would be lucky to see Robin again, much less offer him any aid. Robin…

He would hear; news would spread quickly. It was not every day that a lady was arrested, and soon the villages would hear of her impending sentence. The villagers communicated often enough with Robin that before long the man would know. He would find out, one way or another, but the hope that rested inside of her longed for him to learn of her fate before it actually happened.

* * *

Morning came earlier than expected. Having spent the night searching the forest, traversing their way on the path the boy had come from had led them to nothing but dead ends. There wasn't anything there…perhaps it was the trickery of the light, or the lack of. Halfway through the night they had lost their last torch, pushing on only at Robin's digression. Will had managed to convince him to return to camp as the sun began to rise.

By the time they did return, the boy was already awake. It was a little disheartening, mostly because Will had hoped to get some rest, but he knew that Robin would not stop. And if Robin would not, then neither would he, despite how weary he was. This time when they had left it was all of them, and Thomas was leading the way.

A full night's rest and warm stew had given the boy strength. He took off at a quick pace, moving from one trail to the next, pushing his way through brambles and branches. It was a little more difficult for them to follow the small path, but Robin had wanted the boy to transverse the same way he had come. How Thomas even remembered was beyond him, and that soon became apparent to everyone.

When Thomas slowed his pace, it was not because he was winded, but turned about. They came to a stop where the paths crossed, the trails going off in several different direction, all of which seemed to lead to nowhere. At first there was no real concern, for the boy had come to a stop more than once. But this time he didn't seem keen on going once more, head turning in each direction with frantic movements.

Robin moved ahead of them all, stopping near the boy as he surveyed the area. There were no indications that anything had taken place, no signs of a fight or a struggle. Robin must have noticed this as well, the man kneeling down near Thomas' side. "You came this way?"

The boy glanced down several ways, first nodding and then shaking his head. "I don't…I can't remember. It was dark…and I was running so fast."

"You need to remember, you must."

Will could feel his throat tighten. Robin was being unfair, asking too much of the boy. He knew the man was desperate to find his friend, but it was no cause to demand what could not come, especially of a boy. What would it serve in the end?

Will knew, much like the others, that whatever fate had befallen Much, it was not a pleasant one. Otherwise the man would have returned by now. Death was not something they discussed often, in fact they spoke of it very little despite the fact of how often they encountered it. Still, he was not the one who wanted to bring this knowledge to light. Robin would deny it.

"We left Locksley at night," Thomas whispered quietly. "I wanted to go with them; they said we were going on adventures. It was fun at first, but then I changed my mind…and they wouldn't let me go."

"If you left Locksley then you should have taken the North Road," Robin mused. "If that's the case, then we should have heard something."

"We didn't go that way," the boy shook his head quickly. "They took me through the forest, to a small road. Said we'd lose anyone following us if they were."

"The West Road? Did you stay on it for long?"

"A bit," he confessed. "But the road didn't go the way they needed. We went through the forest again."

"What way did they need to go?"

"South."

"You were on the North Road again."

"And he came shortly after that," Thomas nodded, referring to when Much had saved him.

"What else do you remember?" Robin's voice had softened, talking in a calmer voice now, encouraging the boy.

"He freed me," came the simple reply. "We ran uphill, and into the forest…well, off the road, we were already in the forest…and he told me to hide while he distracted them. He said he would come back for me, but he never did."

There wasn't much promise to that statement. If Much's intentions were to sacrifice himself in order to keep the boy safe, then he may have very well accomplished that goal. Even more so, the truth of what the boy had just told them brought them no closer to discovering anything.

Robin, however, did not seem discouraged by this news. "What was it that you just said?"

"He never came back? I waited, just like he said. But it was getting cold, and I was hungry…"

"No," Robin shook his head, "it was before that. After he freed you, what did you say?"

"We ran away, hid in the forest."

"You said something about a hill; was that right?"

"Why does that matter?" Will wondered as the boy nodded. What would it prove if they ran up a hill, or down a hill, or even into the forest? The forest surrounded them, they were in the woods constantly. That didn't seem to be of any help.

"The North Road is the main route to the villages of Nottinghamshire, it runs for the most part on a level surface. If there's hills involved, that narrows our search."

"Robin, there might be a hundred hills from here to the edge of the forest, we can't search them all."

"Leaving Locksley, taking the West Road, and heading south, there aren't that many hills. We'll make our way to the North Road. If we can find where Much freed Thomas, then maybe we can figure out what way he ran."

It seemed like a silly idea, but Will couldn't bring himself to say so. Robin had been right about Much not being in Nottingham. How he had known Will couldn't rightly say. All he knew was that he needed to trust the man, no matter where it led them in the end.

* * *

He could remember the mines outside of Treeton village. They had been built in haste after the discovery of Iron Ore. That had taken place while he was away at war, of course, he and Robin discovering them shortly after their return. Robin had never been particularly happy about the process, but it was a minor thing in all major prospects. Until the sheriff ordered slaves. Then it had become a priority.

Although he had known of them, Much had never been inside of them. Robin hadn't allowed it, and for that Much had been grateful. He had heard enough stories from the residents of Treeton to send a chill down his spine. Even so he could rightly manage to presume what they were like. Surely they weren't too different from caves. That was one of the reasons he was fearful now.

He didn't like caves, never had. You could never see where you were going; it was difficult even with the aid of a torch. It was often cold, and wet, and they produced the most awful of smells. Like something that had been rotting down there for all of eternity. Then there were the creatures…slimy, smelly…crawly creatures. Most of which probably carried some sort of disease and were just waiting for some poor innocent soul to wander on by so that they could infect him.

These were the thoughts that were with him as he was led across the yard. He had thought that Alfred's Manor was large, but the land behind it proved even larger. At first glance it seemed like a large, open space, a clearing in the woods that led to a small ravine in which a river ran through lazily. There were a few hills, soft gentle rolling slopes and dips that occupied the land with a few sparse trees that were but saplings and most likely would be cut down before they had a chance to really mature and grow.

But as he was led across the length of the open land, he could see that one of the hills sloped down further than the others, before rising up gently. The rise of this hill ended at a small crest of a hole, one that was obviously man-made, boarded up with thick planks of wood in order to shore up the opening. The ladder was firmly built, disappearing into the darkness below despite the brightness of the day above. He could feel his heart speed up a little, pounding in his chest as his throat tightened. He did not want to go down there.

"You'll be in Garner's lot; he will meet you at the bottom. Do as he says, and you'll have no problems," Dax informed him, leading him to the mouth of the shaft. The man gripped the top of the ladder, motioning for him to climb. Much only shook his head, backing up a step.

"I'd rather not; we could part ways here, act like nothing's happened, couldn't we?"

"You could try and run," Dax answered absentmindedly with a shrug as though it wasn't any major ordeal. "Although I do think that it would be difficult in those," he waved a hand, indicating the chains that were bound about his ankles.

They had been set there shortly after he had finished dressing. Much knew that he was speaking the truth here, simply because walking had been a difficult task. He could no more than shuffle at a slow pace, and certainly could not run. If he did try, then most likely he would end up face-first on the ground, with a mouthful of dirt. Then they would drag him back, and force him down anyway.

"Not to mention what would follow."

"What would follow?" Much wondered quietly after a moment of silence. Part of him didn't want to know, but curiosity wouldn't leave him be.

"They go easy the first time. Alfred and the others expect that workers will try and escape at least once, especially ones like you. It is sort of a fore-warning of what could happen, if you do and try again. If a worker proves to be too bothersome, then they are disposed of. Alfred cannot risk defiance."

It hadn't really been an answer to his question, but there was an underlying tone there that even he could not miss. His stomach tightened, much like his throat had, and suddenly he felt quite ill. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

He could hardly believe that this was told to all the slaves, for there was something about Dax that seemed strange. It was as though the man was sharing a dark secret that was not supposed to be discussed. The man looked at him, opened his mouth as though to speak, but instead only shook his head, indicating to the mine once again.

"You best get going, Garner is patient, but even he will not wait forever."

The prospect of running once again crossed his mind, as did the warning Dax had given him only moments before. He wanted nothing more than to be free, to leave this wicked place and head back to Sherwood where Robin and the others were. He wanted to go home, to be surrounded by his friends, the people he knew so well. He worried for them, wanted to know that they were alright. Even that small bit of information would have settled him some.

With slow, shuffling movements he reached out to grab the ladder, taking one last look at the world that surrounded him before moving to climb. Each step he took led him further into the darkness below, the chill of air surrounding him as he took care to find his footing. The chain between his legs allowed him to hit each rung, but only just, forcing him to hold tight with his hands or risk falling. That he did not care to do, for he wasn't entirely sure how far of a drop it was. The opening above him grew smaller, the light becoming fainter the further he went. Soon he could hardly see, relying on his sense of touch to tell where the next step was.

The darkness did not last forever; a warm steady glow began to greet him as he felt blindly through the dark. Another handful of steps, a few more minutes, and his feet touched solid ground. His heart was hammering wildly now, and he was certain that it could be heard reverberating throughout the narrow canyon.

That was where he first met Garner. The man was just as tall as he, perhaps a little taller. Most of his face was covered with a cloth, dirtied by a layer of black grime that could be seen in the flicker of torchlight. The man motioned for him to do the same, the sudden realization hitting Much just then as to what the extra length of cloth from the shoulders was for. Clumsily he wrapped it loosely around both mouth and nose, taking a few tries before actually getting it to stay.

"Follow me, and watch your head," Garner warned, turning to take the lead. With the light already fading, Much had no choice but to hurry in order to see where they were going. Another guard fell in behind, most likely as back-up, he realized dimly. It was to keep him from wandering, from trying to escape. Or perhaps the other was there to intervene if Much tried anything. He really couldn't, even if he wanted to. The chamber here was narrow and short, hardly enough room for a grown man. They were able to pass through, but only just, coming into a larger cave-like opening.

Here, this area was lit by several small flambeaus, casting a dim light throughout the chamber. Enough to see by, but barely so. The darkness was looming, threatening, but it seemed to bother no one but him. He could see the line of workers…slaves, some toiling on their knees, others shuffling to and from the walls, carrying buckets and dumping them into a larger bin to one side.

He felt something pressed into his hands then, Much gripping the handle of the tool tightly. Garner pushed him ahead, leading him down the row to where an empty spot remained, forcing him to his knees. The worker near him gave him half a glance, he swore he could have seen irritation there, but it was difficult to tell for sure.

"Get to work, and don't cause any trouble."

That was all that was said, Garner turning on his heels and leaving the same way he had come. Much watched as the man disappeared, letting out a snort of his own as he picked himself up. "He's a man of few words, isn't he?"

"If he isn't, then you've done something wrong," the worker spoke, startling Much. He stared for a moment, shaking his head.

"But you…you're a…"

"A what?"

"A girl…" he finished up. It seemed strange. He had never been quite sure on how the others would receive him, on what he would be faced with. But he never expected a woman. This work…it was dangerous for men, let alone women who seemed…so fragile. He knew that wasn't entirely true, his thoughts wandering to Djaq and Marian. They were in no way fragile, but even he could not imagine them living a life like this.

"Are you always this observant?" She wondered, turning back to her work. She too hefted a tool similar to his, a dull pick that needed more strength in order to bite into the rock. But she did so with little hesitation, her latest swing breaking free several chunks of the wall. She moved to catch the falling debris, shifting it in her hands as she brought it close to her face, studying it before letting it drop in the bucket at her feet.

"You best get moving," she warned him. "Garner may not have a lot to say, but he doesn't like anyone slacking off." She paused then, staring at him briefly in the dim light. "You've never mined before, have you?"

So it was obvious to see. Slowly he shook his head, still befuddled by the sudden change of events. The woman moved near him, reaching up with a hand to trace the wall. "Find the veins, they're hard to see at first but you can see them if you pay attention. Break the coal free, fill the bucket, and empty it into the cart."

He looked to where she was pointing, seeing nothing at first. The wall all looked the same, but after a few moments he began to distinguish the different colors. He could see where the wall darkened, the faintest glint of black. Surely that was what she was talking about. Hesitantly he raised his pick above his head, bringing it down against the wall.

It struck firmly, a piece breaking off that was no larger than the width of his fingers. He caught it in mid-air, before it had a chance to hit the ground, turning it over in his hands. It wasn't very heavy on its own, the coarse surface leaving minor indentations in his hand as he closed his fingers about it, leaving traces of black grime in its wake. Frowning he turned to drop it in the bucket, the piece clattering as it hit the empty bottom. It would be some time before he managed to fill it all the way up, the simple thought depressing him. At the same time, a worse thought came, the knowledge that he had nothing but time down here; that this was all he had to look forward too for the rest of his days. The thought turned his stomach, chilling his insides.

"Not bad," she spoke again, catching his attention. "Most new ones can't break through until their third or forth try. You'll do just fine."

He didn't want to do fine, didn't even want to be down here. He wanted nothing to do with this place. Yet it wasn't as though he had any choice. Still, a thought warmed his heart, however small it was. The hope that Robin would find him. More often than not he had seen the man go to great lengths to save others, surely he would do the same for him.

"My name is Eleri, by the way."

He half-smiled at her, trying to keep the depression at bay. Perhaps things wouldn't be so bad, and more than anything, Much knew that he could use a friend. Right now, that was all he had.

"Much. My name's Much."

* * *

He had been right to follow his instincts. Once they were headed in the right direction it was easy for the boy to remember what way they had gone. The trail was even easier to follow. They rain they had a few days prior had saturated the ground, washing away evidence of the tracks that had for so long held impressions in the road. With the ground soft, the marks of the hooves from the horses could be easily seen leading off the road. Branches were broken, hanging by slim threads and the ground beneath them torn up in fury as they made their way. It led them to a clearing, the way opening up. It was there the first discovery had been made.

He was apprehensive. Part of him was overjoyed; for the first time they were actually getting somewhere. But the doubts and fears set in soon after. There was some reason why Much had failed to return, both to camp and to fetch the boy. That reason was one he was afraid of. Even now he wasn't sure what he would do if his fears proved to be true.

He was never really sure of what he expected to find. The sword was cold in his hand, an indication that it had not been held for some time, the shield discarded in a similar matter only a few feet away. Robin traced the edges of the design with a finger, his thoughts troubling him.

People had called him a fool at first, all those years ago. Servants were not meant to fight, or so they said. Yet the idea had come to him on a spur of the moment, an evening when he was bored and wanted some simple pleasure. He could still recall the look on Much's face when he first pressed the weapon into the man's hand. It had left Robin unarmed, and Much quite reluctant to swing the sword his way.

Somehow he had managed to goad the man into making the first strike. Robin had blocked it easily with a crude shield made from the top of a milking stool. Much had been impressed, as much as worried, and had wanted to learn. That day had begun years of training, a skill which had served the man well in the end. Or maybe not as well as Robin had hoped, turning the sword over in his hands. Now that they knew where he had been, it was now time to discover where he had gone.

No one had spoken, the tension hanging in the air. They were all afraid, he knew; afraid that he would break down and lose control. But control was something he held tighter now more than ever. Much was alive, that much was clear; the tell-tale signs of a struggle were present, but not a drop of blood had been shed. Much would be counting on him for a rescue.

"Thomas?"

The boy turned his way obediently as Robin knelt in front of him. The outlaw kept his voice low and steady, the tip of the sword digging into the ground as he held it. "I need to know everything that happened, whatever they may have told you. It may help."

"Like what?"

"Did they say where they were taking you?"

Thomas shook his head, "No…but they did talk about some strange things. One of them, Eloy…I think it was, said something about a gateway to the moors. He said that there was a forest, like this one, that it was sheer as well."

"Sheer as well?" Allan shook his head from where he stood. "That doesn't make any sense."

"And they were headed south?" Robin wondered, ignoring Allan's statement despite how true it was. It was talk that had been peppered with false enthusiasm to encourage a boy to come along willingly.

"Robin, you do not know if these men took Much with them," Djaq mentioned quietly.

"I know," he answered quietly as the boy nodded to his own question. Moving to his feet he glanced at the others, already knowing they would not like what he was going to say.

"I'm going to find out; I need you to make sure that Thomas gets back to where he belongs. We'll meet back at the camp by sundown."

"Where are you going to go?"

Will was the first to get on him, which with recent times wasn't that surprising. "I'm going to see if anyone has heard of this gateway; we have a direction, surely someone knows something."

"I'll come with you."

He wanted to argue, but somehow knew that it would do him no good. Even if he sent the others on their way, Will was bold enough to follow at a distance. And he would rather have the man at his side rather than on his tail. With a nod he glanced at the others, the group already knowing what was to be done.

"Sundown, remember. Talk to the keepers at the orphanage, learn what they know. Anything may be of help."

It was John that placed an arm about the boy's shoulders, guiding him away from the group and leading the others away. Robin waited only long enough to see them disappear around the bend before turning back. He still held the sword in his hands, moving to discard his outer tunic so that he could carefully wrap it up. There was no doubt in his mind that he would one day hand it back to the original owner.

Near him, Will had retrieved the discarded shield, following Robin's lead as they left the forest behind. He wasn't sure if these strange men had told Thomas the truth, but he was hopeful. Thieves, by nature, tended to lie. But another thing he was sure of was the fact that when comfortable in their endeavors they often told bits of the truth as well. And if there was any truth about what they have said, then there was only one person that could help them.

The mapmaker.

**TBC**


	9. A Map

**Thanks to all who replied, glad to know you're still with me. As for as Eleri goes, she **_**is not**_** the same Eleri from Brother in Arms. I didn't even think about the name similarities until it was pointed out by my reviewers. Sorry for the confusion. **

**Thanks goes again to Kegel, who catches all of my stupid mistakes, lol. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Nine: A Map**

He knew who it was the moment the knock sounded. There was the faintest of smiles, a gleeful snicker that was masked quickly as he forced a bored and blasé expression on his face as he bade the other to enter. It was difficult to keep his amusement at bay as Gisborne came in. At first glance the man appeared threatening, clad in all black, armed with a weapon at his side and a stature that sent most others running. More than once Vaysey had seen peasants cower under his glare, and squirm as he spat out orders or commands.

Yet today Gisborne seemed very humble. His step was hasty, his bow awkward, and his voice raspy as it caught in his throat. He cleared it with a cough, addressing him formally. It was rather amusing to watch, but the sheriff kept it from showing, collecting his goblet in order to distract himself.

"Milord," Gisborne shifted in his stance, the silence growing as the man fumbled for words. "I beg of you, please reconsider what you are doing."

"It is only wine, Gisborne," the sheriff raised the goblet to show him, bringing it to his lips. He couldn't help but smile at the tantalizing flavor. "Quite fresh, you should try some. Of course, both you and I know that you are incapable of appreciating fine things."

"I am speaking of Marian," Gisborne answered, unfazed by the latest of comments.

"So was I." He smiled at the confused glance. "Is it not a fine thing that we captured Hood's accomplice?"

"Marian is not associated with Hood."

"Really?" he questioned, bafflement lingering in his voice. "My, what a terrible mistake, we shall release her at once then."

He saw him trip, enjoying the confused look on his face. "Milord…I…you would let her go?"

"A clue: no."

"But she is innocent."

"No one is innocent, Gisborne," he answered with an irritated sigh. "Least of all the leper."

"If I have failed you…"

"You always fail me. That hasn't changed anything, now has it?"

"If I have failed you," Gisborne continued, hardly distracted by what was just said. "Then do not punish Marian."

"It is a real shame," Vaysey shook his head, finishing off the rest of the wine. "She's poisoned you, Gisborne. Can't you see that? She's put a curse on you, blinded you from what is really there. Maybe I should declare her a witch, have her burnt at the stake…"

He could see the color drain from his face. An amusing sight, and he grinned as he popped a prune in his mouth. "Come now, Gisborne. Consider this a favor, a gift! With the leper out of the way, there won't be anymore of these distractions. Hood won't have the upper hand, and we can go about business as usual."

The man was silent, a bit of a dismay to Vaysey, who had, so far, quite enjoyed himself. Gisborne was such a weakling, so bent by any pretty thing that batted their eyes his way. He knew that Gisborne had more than one bastard child running around. Yet Marian had been a prize he could not have, and that was the sole reason he was so enthralled with her.

"You cannot honestly tell me that you do not suspect her as well," he pointed out, taking another prune. "Wasn't it you who, some time ago, came to me with news of her betrayal?"

"I was mistaken," Gisborne corrected him. "Marian has been nothing but loyal to me. Even now…even now she wishes to marry despite the lies I have told her."

"Ah yes," he grinned gleefully, motioning the servant over to fill his empty goblet once more. "Tell me, when is the wedding supposed to take place?"

"Friday."

"Well, now that won't do," Vaysey shrugged indifferently, taking a sip. "Two days away, and yet she is to hang in the morning. What a shame."

"I beg of you, milord," Gisborne spoke quietly. "Let her go. What happened with Hood was my fault, and you are punishing her because of my error."

He seemed to consider it for a moment, as though toying with the idea, then shook his head. "I think not. But I will do you one favor."

"Milord?"

"The wedding takes place on Friday, yes?"

Gisborne nodded, still fully confused.

"She will hang on Saturday then."

The man said nothing, instead only stared with a perplexed expression. Vaysey let out a sigh, taking in more wine. At this rate he would need all he could get. Surely Gisborne was smarter than he was playing out to be at the moment.

"It's called a compromise," he explained delicately. "This way, you get what you want, and marry the girl, and I get what I want. A hanging."

"I cannot marry her only for her to hang!"

He shrugged, caring little. "Suit yourself; though I'm sure you'll change your mind in the coming days. Now leave."

It was a sort of sick, twisted, amusement he received from stirring Gisborne's internal pot. The man was so befuddled by emotions and it provided more entertainment than the king's own personal jester. He would let the man fret over it for a few days, and would drop hints at every possible moment just so he could see him squirm. Even now he could see Gisborne trying to figure out what to say, to keep arguing, but finally the man bowed, and left the room in a sulky manner.

"Make sure he does not go to the dungeons," Vaysey replied crisply to one of the guards. "I'd rather him not fancy any ideas of stealing her away just yet."

The man bowed, following after the departing form. Pursing his lips, the sheriff turned, eyeing the captain of his guard who was still standing in one corner. "Tell me, any news of our guest?"

"He should be arriving on time, milord," the man answered simply.

It was about as comforting as receiving no news at all. In other words, the man hadn't the slightest of ideas. Vaysey let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "I would very much like for him to arrive unharmed."

"With all due respect, milord, I am sure Prince John's man can care for himself."

"And I would be willing to assume that an assassin can care for himself as well. Yet _Robin Hood_ proved that differently," he spat out the man's name as though it was a soured fruit. "Make sure the Lady Marian's sentence is known throughout the villages."

"Milord?"

He let out grunt, closing his eyes. Imbeciles, he was surrounded by incompetent imbeciles. "I didn't arrest her for my own pleasure, you twit. I do not want Robin and his men twittering about the forest when he comes through."

"The lady…I thought you said she was working with Hood…?"

"For all I know she is," Vaysey frowned. He always held his suspicion, but could never be quite sure. He suspected half the castle, to be truthful, but hanging everyone left and right only left him short of men. "Even if she isn't, Hood will not allow a woman to die. Especially one he fancies quite splendidly."

He smiled at his own comment. Robin of Locksley had once been betrothed to her. How it had angered Guy upon finding this out, when they had first come to power in Nottingham. How he had pestered, and badgered her, always bringing up the fact that her supposed better half had left her for a war thousands of miles away. Slowly he had changed her, had taken her, and now he was betrothed to her. How amazing it was, the thought that if only Gisborne applied the same principles, the same motivation to more pressing and important matters, all the man would accomplish.

And how delightful it would be, for Gisborne to watch as Hood rescued her. Gisborne, knowing that he could not even see her, to know that an outlaw had his future wife. It was almost too amusing, far more so than allowing her to die. For when she was dead, there would be no more enjoyment in tormenting him, nothing he could use to dangle over the man's head and watch him squirm.

And for the first time the Sheriff of Nottingham was hoping that Robin would succeed in his future endeavors.

* * *

There were several mapmakers within Nottinghamshire, all of which drafted maps within their spare time. They were well educated men, though not quite nobles, but well respect by the general lot. Even so, there was only one in particular that Robin dared to trust, and that was a man by the name of Brom. He had been a friend of his family's, more specifically of his father. Robin had only been a few young years at the time of his death, but even after his father's passing Brom continued to keep ties with his mother.

That had been years ago, however. Robin had neither seen, nor heard from the man since before leaving for the war. Part of him was skeptical; had his long absence and infamous outlawry forced a wedge between them? Even worse, had the sheriff managed to somehow gain a hold of the man's loyalty? It wouldn't be a surprise; Brom resided in Nottingham after all, and not too far from the castle. Whenever the sheriff had business that required the aid of a map, then Brom was the first he would call upon.

But out of the other mapmakers, one he knew was deftly in league with the sheriff, and for other means than just his knowledge of how the land lay. The other two Robin had never met, but had heard their skills were less than reliable. And with all of England that lay south of here, it was a lot of land to search for a single man. More than anything, Robin knew that he needed a direction.

It was shortly after noon when they arrived. Robin had kept a steady pace, perhaps faster than what Will was accustomed to. Part of him felt guilty, watching the man lag behind as he struggled to keep up. He was well enough, Robin knew, but he also knew how healed wounds could still sneak up on a person when things were overdone. Will gave him a nod, however, as he came to a rest near his side, a signal that he was alright.

Even so, Robin bid his time. It was quieter in Nottingham today, the markets gone until the next coming week. This left only the residents of the town, and even they were scarcely outside to wander the streets. They took the chance to slip inside the town at the same time as a carriage, flitting quickly to the shadows as soon as they crossed through.

"Where does he live?"

Robin had only told Will a little; there were too many thoughts in his head to share everything, and even then, the less he thought about it, the saner he would stay. Yet the question now caught him slightly off guard. It had been years since he had last seen Brom, and even longer since he had been to the man's home.

"West side, somewhere."

"You don't know?"

Robin glared at him, although he was feeling the agitation mostly at himself. "To be honest, I don't know if he's even still alive."

He just had always assumed. Robin turned away from the questioning glare, running across the open to another batch of shadows. There were few as of now, the sun hanging directly above and casting most of them away. All of this only made their mission that much more complicated. Still Robin drew the hood over his face, knowing that Will would follow his lead.

Waiting for a group to pass, Robin stepped out into the main streets, keeping his head low, his feet shuffling. A spare basket full of soiled cloths were snatched up from the side of the road. Robin wasn't sure who they belonged to, but he now appeared to blend in better, as though he was no more than a simple peasant going about his daily business.

All the while his eyes were searching. Reading the signs, the hasty words that had been scrawled into scraps of wood. A time ago, when Marian's father had been sheriff, these places were better kept. That was some time ago; however. He risked a glance at the castle, knowing that he would have to stop in to see her before he left. There was no telling how long he would be gone, or if he would even return, but she at least deserved to know that he would be leaving.

There was time for that later. He focused on where he was going, a smile coming to his face as he recognized the area. There had hardly been any change, despite the noticeable wear and tear, and for that Robin was grateful. With a nod to Will he turned down one of the alleyways, going until they had reached a pile of discarded empty barrels. It was these he used to hide behind.

"Brom's place is right around the corner. I am going in there, but I want you to stay here," he held up his hand as Will began to protest. "I need you to keep watch. Any guards, Gisborne…anyone at all, warn me. I do not wish anyone to know of this meeting."

It was for more than one reason. He did not want to risk Brom's life, which would be in danger if they were caught. And if he was caught…Robin did not wish to pass along any information about his sudden departure, or where he was going. The less people that knew about this mission…the better it would be.

The man nodded, although reluctantly. Satisfied Robin pulled away, waiting until it was clear to move down the alleyway. Closer to the road he stopped, grabbing the siding of the house and hefting himself up. The climb was fairly easy, and within minutes he was inside on the top floor. Darkness was the only thing that greeted him, his worry that Brom no longer lived there coming to light until he heard the steps below.

He eased out the small knife, keeping it near in any case he should need to use it. There was no telling if it was indeed Brom, and if it was, how he would react to seeing him after all these years. Stealthily Robin crept down the stairs, coming to a pause as he peered through the slates of wood. A smile crossed his face as saw the man, looking older, but apart from the graying hair, he was very much the same. It was time to make an appearance.

The man looked up as he approached, a mixture of surprise and fear on his face. It softened shortly after, a warmer expression as their eyes met. With a sigh Brom stepped back from the table where he had been working, shaking his head.

"I was wondering when I might see you."

"You knew I was coming?" That was a surprise, perhaps an unwelcome one. How would the man know of his intentions? But Brom shook his head with a smile.

"You seem busy enough these days, keeping everyone fed and safe from the sheriff. I hear stories about you, Robin, more often than you would believe. Your father would have been proud."

No one had spoken of his father since before his mother died. Most people didn't even remember who he was, other than that he was the former Locksley. Robin managed a smile, mostly caught off-guard by the comment. Brom must have sensed that he was uncomfortable, for the man turned and began speaking once more, changing the topic.

"Though I doubt you dropped in just to chat about old times, not with the sheriff about. What is going on?"

"Have you heard anything about strange men in the shire taking away boys?" Robin wasn't sure how else to word the question.

"I can't rightly say that I have," came the answer. "I figure that would cause quite a commotion, and I'm glad to say that it's been quiet here as of late. Why? What have you heard?"

Robin didn't answer right away. He still wasn't quite sure of where Brom's loyalties lay, and he didn't want to cause fear and panic by unleashing a rumor. Robin knew how easy it was for people to twist the smallest of words into something larger and more horrific. It was better to not say anything at all. Robin shook his head, changing the discussion.

"Do you know anything about a gateway to the moors?"

"A gateway?"

"Maybe near a forest," Robin offered up, recalling what Thomas had said earlier. Yet he wondered if Brom even heard him, for the man had left the room in a hurry. Robin gripped the handle of his knife tighter, ready to flee if necessary. But his fears were proved unnecessary, Brom returning a moment later with a bundle of parchments. He moved to help the man unroll them, placing cups and bowls on the edges to keep it from rolling up.

"I spent years traveling, before our new friend the sheriff came into power. Imagine my surprise when I came home…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Though I guess you saw much of the same," he muttered. He placed a finger on the map, tapping the parchment lightly. "Nottingham, see, here we are."

Robin nodded; he had read maps before, so that alone was no surprise to him. But knowing where he was wasn't his problem; he needed to know where to go. He watched as Brom slowly traced the map, humming there, sighing here before pausing to rub his chin. Robin could feel the irritation, the impatience, rising in him. If Brom could not give him any answers, then Robin wasn't sure what he would do.

"Here," Brom suddenly moved, tapping the map in one of the corners. "I had almost forgotten, but I do remember it. It's a small village; I stayed there for only a few months. Miserable months they were, smack in the middle of winter. Witheridge here, sits on a hill, has no protection, but it does open up the way to what some call the 'Two Moors Way'. I guess you could call it a gateway."

Witheridge…just glancing at the map he could tell that it would take days to reach on foot. With a horse he may cut that time in half, but riding a horse between the villages as opposed to riding for several days was a different concern. Robin knew already that he did not have the necessary supplies to sustain a steed for that length of time. Not to mention the attention he would surely draw if he raced through on horseback. He let out a sigh, biting his lip. In either case, it was still a longer journey than the one he and Much had made to Portsmouth when they had set off for the crusades.

"Are you planning to go there?"

He hesitated, unsure of if he should answer. But then he nodded. Brom had given him his trust, and now Robin knew that he should do the same. "I fear I must," he glanced at the other man, his gaze unwavering. "Tell no one that we have spoken."

"Not a soul," Brom agreed without pause. "Not only to spare my neck, but yours as well. I'm on your side, Robin. Even if we never see one another. Many of us here are. The people believe in you."

The people did believe in him, and that was the problem. For now he felt as though he was forsaking his deeds, foisting his responsibilities for a personal matter. Another part of him knew that he would do so, again and again, if it only meant those closest to him were safe.

He glanced up as Brom called his name, unaware that he had been lost in thought. The man held a small parchment in his hand, roughly a quarter in size of the map that was strewn on the table. Robin took it questioningly, moving to unroll it.

"You'll need it," Brom encouraged him. "I have plenty others, and there is no need to pay me," he cut Robin off even as he tried to offer.

The map itself was small, somewhat hard to read, but it was better than nothing, and it would make for easy and light travel.

"If you pass through Eastington, I have friends there. Use my name; you'll be safe with them."

"Thank you," Robin nodded to him as he rolled up the map. This was more than he had hoped for, and yet it had given him little. Most of the success would lie with Robin, and his ability to garner the truth about Much's disappearance. With a final nod he slipped the parchment into his inner pocket, moving to the window. A low whistle from him was followed by a pause of silence and a returning whistle from the outside. The surroundings were clear, and with one last look back, Robin slid quickly out of the window, disappearing as silently as he had come.

* * *

They were back in Sherwood by mid-evening. Robin had not stayed long in the marketplace, and had spent even a shorter time in the castle when he had gone to see Marian. In fact, he had hardly stayed at all, most of his time spent sneaking in and out. When pressed, the man had dolefully reported that she had not been found.

"I don't have the time to wait either," he replied when Will questioned him. Will could understand the reason for the gloominess in the man's voice. Marian was to marry, but when, was not entirely certain. Robin had yet to tell him what he had learnt while in Nottingham, or what he planned to do, but part of Will suspected that he would not be around to witness the wedding. Most likely the next time he and Marian met, she would be a Gisborne.

_Unless I do something about it,_ Will mused. He hadn't forgotten Robin's warning from earlier, nor did he believe in it. But if Robin wasn't willing to put a stop to the wedding, then he would have to find a way. These thoughts he kept to himself. Robin would be angry with him after the deed had been done.

There was nothing said between them on the way back. Camp was a welcome, but empty sight. The knowledge that one of their own was missing, and his fate still unknown, was an eerie sensation. John and the others were already back at camp, each passing along a quiet greeting, their spirits obviously held in the same esteem as their own.

Will pulled off his cloak, gathering a plate of food that had been pulled from the storage. A combination of dried and withered meat, a few berries that were left over from having been picked earlier. It was a poor meal, but all they had to offer as no one was in the spirit to really cook. He turned and offered the food to Robin, who took it without question, popping a piece of meat into his mouth even as he sat.

"You get him back alright?" the man questioned even as he chewed.

Allan nodded, leaning against one of the support beams for the roof. "We weren't able to find anything else out. The keepers there, the ones that run the orphanage, said they sent the men away several days ago. The kid ran away shortly after that. He was telling the truth."

Robin nodded thoughtfully, taking another piece, but said nothing. In a way it irritated Will, wondering what knowledge the man was keeping to himself. His appetite had increased, a comforting notion, but worrisome as well. Will could only speculate as to why Robin was eating so heartily when only moments before he had seemed so gloomy.

The silence stretched, as did the discomfort among them. Will toyed with a few berries on his plate before eating them all one by one. They settled his stomach, but not the empty ache inside. It had not been this cheerless since the night that Roy had been killed. Admittedly, he knew Much far better than he had ever known Roy, but still the feeling was quite the same.

"Djaq," Robin spoke up suddenly, laying his plate down. "I need a sleeping draught."

"Why?" she questioned.

"Because," he moved to his feet, crossing over the floor, "in the morning, I am headed to Witheridge."

"Witheridge?" Will repeated, frowning. "Where's that?"

"Devanshire."

"Which is where?" Allan wondered.

"A few days walk from here," Robin answered nonchalantly. "I think Much may be there."

"Not being funny, but we don't even know if he's still…" Allan trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

"No," Robin shook his head. "We don't. But if his captors wanted to kill Much, then they would have done so in the forest. They'd have no reason to do so anywhere else."

"Robin," Will paused, thinking carefully over what he was going to say. "Do you know for sure, if that is where he is?"

The man shook his head sadly, a forlorn expression on his face. "But it's a hope. And that is why I must leave at first light. But first I need to sleep. Djaq?"

"We'll come with you."

He meant the best intentions with it, but it was as though Robin had been slapped. He turned quickly, shaking his head at Will.

"No. I go alone."

"Robin-"

"You must stay here and keep after the shires," he stressed, looking around then. "All of you. I may be gone for a time, whether it be a week, or even a month. It may be even longer than that, if I cannot avoid it. The people here need help; we—you, cannot abandon them. I do not want to even pretend to imagine the harm the sheriff will inflict if he believes we are gone, or the hope that the people will lose. You must take care of them."

There was silence among them. Will could not blame anyone, least of all himself. What was one to say in response to the knowledge that your leader was going to abandon you? He knew the cause was good, one that was noble, but it did not soften the blow. And though his explanation made sense, it did not settle the worry he felt.

There had been a time before, not so long ago, that he could remember quite well. Of how a petty argument had separated them all. He had been petty then, foolish, had done what he thought was right. And in that time he had been away from Robin, it had been the worst of luck. If one could even call it luck. Now he was once again facing the prospect of being without the man. Will wasn't sure exactly how he was supposed to feel.

"Djaq," Robin spoke softly once the silence had stretched for a time. "I need to be able to wake before dawn."

"I know of one," she answered, setting her plate on the ground. "It will help you relax, calm your mind. But it is not strong."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, before turning to face Will. "A moment?"

Will moved to his feet, following the other out into forest. They walked a short ways from camp, either for the air to get away from prying ears he wasn't sure. Perhaps it was both, but whatever the case, Robin did not speak until they had reached the line of the trees at the edge of the clearing.

"Will," he drew in a breath, obviously troubled. Will did not prompt him, only waiting to listen to what the other had to say. He had a suspicion, but he would not bring it up for fear of being wrong.

The man drew in another breath, straightening up. "Marian…I want…I need you to keep an eye on her. For me."

"Of course," he promised.

"I need you to tell her something. If…when you see her again. Tell her…tell her that she's making the right decision."

"Robin," Will shook his head. He could not very well tell her a lie, no matter how well Robin's intentions were. The man cut him off, not allowing him to finish.

"She _will _marry Gisborne, with or without my blessing. She knows that I won't give it…and I know that she will never forgive herself for what she is to do. But she must know that she was…is right. As Gisborne's wife, she will be safe."

Will hesitated, but nodded. He still believed there was something to be done, but he wasn't willing to bring that point up with Robin so that it could be argued some more.

"Do not risk yourself to see her," Robin warned, his voice dropping into the stern tone that he reserved for when he was the most serious. "I do so because I choose to, and I do not wish for you to take that risk because of me."

The warning was taken, but only lightly. Robin should have known that it was just as easy for Will to sneak in as the other. Still he nodded, if only to appease Robin.

"You and John take care of the others. Make sure the villages have food, money when they need it. Lie low, and stay out of trouble."

"You know us, Robin," Will gave him a comforting nod. Robin gave him a small smile, nodding in return.

"I know; that is why I said it."

He clapped him on the shoulder, letting his hand linger for only a moment before turning away, headed back to camp. Will wasn't sure how to take the last comment, standing only for a moment to watch as the man darted through the low opening. What he did know, however, was that the next coming days, perhaps weeks, would be rather interesting.

**TBC**


	10. A Jumbled Conclusion

**Love reading all the responses, glad to know everyone is enjoying it so far. Looking forward to hear more thoughts. Enjoy!**

**Thanks goes out to Kegel for the beta! **

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**Chapter Ten: A Jumbled Conclusion**

Dawn came slowly. Through the barred window she could see the smallest changing of light, how it changed from a deep, dark black, to a crepuscular blue, to a finer shade of white, almost gold. Her heart pounded inside of her chest, thumping wildly in her ears despite her efforts to remain calm. How could anyone remain calm on the day that they were supposed to die?

There had been no more visitors since Guy; neither the sheriff, nor the doltish jailer himself had ventured near her cell. Part of her had been grateful for the solitude. It gave her time to collect her thoughts, to figure out what her last requests were, what she would say. Surely she would be allowed something; even the sheriff could not deny that…could he?

Through the night her thoughts had taken a turn for other, similar memories. They were not happy, despite how much she wanted them to be so. There had been a warning in her mind, upon her return, that things could end up like this. At the time she had told herself she could handle it, and find a way out. How wrong she had been.

In her mind she had imagined that things would be different. The incessant letters from Guy had been primarily a nuisance. Most of them had never been read, thrown instead onto the fire the moment they had arrived. Marian had tried her best to start her life over, to forget about Guy of Gisborne, as well as the man that lived in the woods. Robin…

He, like Guy, had been another reason why she had not wanted to return at first. She loved him, she knew, in a different way than she loved Guy. Part of her wondered if she really loved either of the men, or if emotions were toying with her, forcing her to believe something that wasn't necessarily true. She did not need a man in her life. She was self-sufficient, and had been for many years. She had her father to blame for that.

At the thought she had cringed. Her father had been the biggest reason for her return. He had not been as able-bodied as he once was when they had first fled Knighton, and over time his health had taken a turn for the worse. The man had been strong and brave, perhaps for her sake rather than his. But age, and failing health, had finally taken its toll.

The days following his death had been grim, and even now she could not truly recall them. She had gone about, doing whatever was necessary to keep herself from thinking. At dawn she had risen, taken her supper, tending to chores throughout the day. Once the sun had set, and after supper was eaten, she had gone to bed and slept. For near a week she had repeated this routine, until the night the letter came to her.

How Gisborne ever managed to get her anything was beyond her comprehension. For if he knew of her whereabouts, surely it was easier to simply ride there and demand she returned rather than plead on parchment. The maid that had attended her had simply said it came from a friend, and to her friend it had come from another. The letters were always well worn, and so it was easy to believe it had changed hands several times.

At first, she had almost thrown it on the fire. That part of her life was over, she could never return. Or could she? With her father gone, so was all that she knew in life as well. Everything else was too new, and she had longed for something familiar. Even as she had read the letter, she had cursed herself. But her mind had been made. She scratched a reply, something so simple that it could not be taken for either good or ill will, and handed it back to her maid. She suspected it would find its way back in the same manner it had come, and sure enough it had. A few weeks time, and another letter had come. Gisborne, had wanted for her to return.

And so she had. Her father's death would remain a secret between her and her servants. She would tell no one else. For if there was ever a desire for her to flee again, she could easily use that to her advantage. Surely God would forgive her for that small lie if it meant her safety.

There was another key to her safety. That was Lyre, a man she had befriended in her time away. She knew that she would need a friend if the time to flee came, but as time passed, and her position with Gisborne had become secure, Marian had done the only thing that was moral. She had sent Lyre on his way. What a fool she had been.

She knew that Gisborne envisioned the same life for them now as he had all that time ago when he had first proposed. Marian was convinced that they would not marry, but had consented in Robin's time of need. At least he was safe, she reasoned. And that was worth more than her life. For, to England, she was just one woman. And Robin, she knew, meant so much more than that to the populace. But it still did not change her thoughts about her situation to the better.

She longed to know of what had happened to Much; the man had accompanied Robin for so long that she was certain Robin would be lost without him. He would not admit it freely, but he cared deeply for Much, as though the man was some sort of a brother. She liked him as well, a smile crossing her lips at the fond memories that crept up into her mind.

Truly, that was her last request. To know what had happened, but she would not ask. She knew that it would betray that Robin and his men were weak if she were to ask. Weak, because Marian knew that Robin could not function without Much, despite how often Robin denied it. And if the sheriff knew Robin was weak, then he would strike, and Robin and his men, as well as Nottinghamshire, would suffer because of it. She would have nothing to say, and so awaited the time when the walk to the gallows would commence.

Yet the morning passed unto day, the very notion confusing her. The sheriff was never late for executions. In fact, he was often early. But as the shaft of light that shot through the measly window changed position, it was clear that whatever was to happen, would not do so today.

Her only visitor during the day had been the jailer, the man leering at her through the bars as he pushed through a small plate with a meager meal. Marian dared not to touch it, seeing the look in his one, good eye. A glare of lust, and it frightened her. She could shake most of whatever she came in contact, but the bars separating them would cause a problem. Not to mention that if she did end up besting the jailer, more questions would arise to support the accusation that she was working with Robin.

It was several long minutes the man stood there, glaring at her, before he lumbered off without so much as a sound. The food was a questionable bit, for if she was to die, why bother in feeding her? Another worry, for she couldn't help but wonder by what fate or fortune her execution had been delayed. Perhaps Guy had been meagerly successful in his quest to divert the sheriff. But if he had done so, why had he not yet come down to speak with her?

She wrapped her arms about her knees, pressing her forehead into them. She had to think, but she knew that no matter how well she did so, it would not bring her the answers she sought. It made her all the more uneasy, to not know what was to happen. And there wasn't anything she could do about it…she had no choice, but to wait.

* * *

It had been harder than he expected. His back hurt from the constant stooping, his arms feeling much the same ache from having driving the pick into the rock time after time. More than once he had nicked his fingers, the bitter sting causing him to wince as dust settled into the fresh cuts. Blisters had also begun to form on his hands, and now were almost burning as he touched them gently.

How long he had worked, Much did not know. They had stopped twice during the day, taking in both water and food. Nothing that was lavish, but at the very least it was fresh. No sooner had they finished eating that they had gone back to work. And even though he wanted nothing more than to stop, Eleri had prompted him to continue.

At long last, a guard had come through, had called for them to finish. Much had followed Eleri around, listening to her quiet instructions as they dumped the remaining coal into the bins, and set aside their tools. From there they were led through a series of corridors, each one darker and some even narrower than the one before. By the time they were even halfway through, Much was positively lost. If he ever had to find his way back through there alone, he feared that he would surely disappear.

The last tunnel widened, giving them room to walk in twos and threes rather than single file. Much wasn't sure what to think, coming to a stop as he glanced around the newest of surroundings. Part of him had expected to go back up. After all, he had come so far down it only seemed to be the logical solution. Instead they had been led to a cave. It was wide, spacious, and lit with numerous torches, but it was still a cave. A rat-infested, bat-hoarding, cold and dreary cave.

He shook off the chill, glancing about.. It seemed to have no real opening to the outside, or if it did, it was well hidden in another confusing twisting and turning of tunnels. It was as large…no, larger than Locksley Manor itself. Perhaps larger even than Sherwell's Manor. It was a good thing, too.

Now that he was here, he could see there were many others. Perhaps four times as many, littering the cave in small and large bunches from one end of the cave to the other. Small pits were alit with fires, each one small in nature, and rough, crude bedrolls were spread across the ground. He started, when a hand fell on his shoulder.

"We sleep here," Eleri motioned for him to follow. Numbly he did so, too tired to really protest. Near the wall closest to the tunnel they sat, one of the other workers from their group moving to light their own fire. It wasn't long before the dry timber that was provided caught flame, the sparks dancing in the air. Much moved his hands towards the warmth, trying to chase away the chill.

After a time, a third meal was brought to them. Children, mostly boys, carried around rough pails of water, and baskets of food to each person, giving out even amounts. It was mostly bread, once again, but this time it was near as large as both their earlier meals put together. He ate hungrily, for the first time not really caring that it was so bland of a palette.

"You should sleep, morning comes early," Eleri encouraged him, already moving to stretch out on her own roll. She had long ago removed the cloth that covered her head and face, her hair falling free of its binds and cascading down her shoulders. She had washed, as well, while he had eaten, using the bucket of water to splash her face, and clean her hands. Despite her efforts, her skin was still a faint tinge of ebony.

"Why are we doing this?"

"Because we're told to," she answered simply.

"I mean…I understand why…but _why, _exactly, are we doing it?"

"People pay money for coal. Some say that coal can burn, that it burns longer than wood. Others say that it is heretic magic, used by witches so they can practice magic."

"Witches?" Much frowned, rubbing his hands together to try and chase away the cold. He winced; he had forgotten about the blisters. "There's no such thing…is there?"

"No," she answered plainly. "But that doesn't matter. Silver does. Gold does. That's all anyone cares about."

"But why, I mean. So Alfred has a coal mine, why not hire workers? Why slaves?"

"Workers cost money, and make unreasonable demands. Mining's dangerous, and no free man would enter unless promised a pretty price. Slaves follow orders without question. There are no negotiations."

"Using Christians as slaves is illegal though…"

"Will you be the one to tell him that?" she wondered curiously.

Much turned to the tunnel that had led them there, disappointed to see it guarded by two men. He could easily take them down, he supposed. After all, he and Robin had more than enough practice battling through unfair odds and coming out successful. But that was with Robin, and Much had a lingering suspicion he would only end up lost.

"Well then," he frowned, turning back. "I gather he already knows."

"I have been here for seven years," she told him quietly, resting her chin on her crossed arms. "I have tried every thing known in my mind to try and escape. I'll spare you the agony and let you know there is no such thing."

"Then you….you weren't always a slave then?"

"I used to be free," she commented quietly. "Most of us once were. It matters not to Alfred. They're all the same."

"Who?"

"Masters," she spat out the word as though it were poison. "Cruel, spineless creatures. They care for nothing and no one."

"That's not true."

"What would you know of masters?" she wondered mockingly, rolling on her back to stare at the ceiling.

"I'll have you know that my master isn't anything like that," Much argued quietly, thinking of Robin. How she could say such things about a man she had never met was downright appalling.

"You speak highly of the man who forces you to slave in mines."

"I am not speaking of Alfred," he ground out. "He is not my master."

"So you were already a servant then? Makes sense; you were already so compliant."

"I _was_ a free man. Actually, I am Lord Much, Earl of Bonchurch, if you must know."

There was a sharp laugh, and Eleri turned to look at him as she chuckled. "Honestly now, I have heard some fine tales spun in my time, but that, by far, is surely the most amusing."

"It is no tale!" he protested, shaking his head.

"You are no lord," she stifled a laugh. "Else you wouldn't be here. And the last time I checked, lords did not have masters."

"I wasn't always a lord, no," he confessed, growing agitated. How could she not understand? "My master granted me freedom, and lands of Bonchurch to be my own."

"And do not your people of Bonchurch miss their lord?"

"Well…no…I didn't actually live there…"

"A lord that does not live at his own manor. Tell me, then, where did you stay?"

"With my master, of course," he started, fumbling as she laughed again. Why did she keep doing that? It was so frustrating.

"I couldn't live there," he tried to explain. "My master and I, we were outlaws…are still outlaws. The sheriff would have us hang if he caught us."

"First a lord, then an outlaw. Next I suppose you will tell me that you are some sort of war hero."

"Well," he started hesitantly, "yes and no. It was Robin, my master. He did save the king's life. But I ran and fetched help, so you could say that it was some of my doing."

"The king?" she snorted, shaking her head. "Your lies are impressive, but I have heard many tales since being here. Perhaps your _master_ had you spin stories for his own amusement, and then mocked you behind your back, but I neither require, nor do I desire, to hear such fallacies."

"I'll have you know that they are not stories," he snuffed. "Robin doesn't even like stories; or songs for that matter. And you're wrong about him. He's a good man."

"Good man? More in likely he's the one's who sold you to Alfred."

"That's not true. I was captured."

"He probably paid the men to make it look like a capture. He probably didn't have the guts to look you in the face when you realized the truth."

"He did no such thing!" he cried. How could she even suggest it? "Robin would risk his life for me."

"Would he?" there was amusement in her voice.

"Of course. He'll come. He'll find me."

"And why would he risk his life to do so, when he can find another servant for a cheap price? He's probably already bought someone. More in likely they're eating your food, sleeping in your bed, right now. "

"He wouldn't," Much argued. "He's Robin Hood."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

He faltered. Obviously the name was wasted on her. While he knew that Robin's name had spread considerably wide, he also knew that it wasn't possibly for everyone to have heard of the man. Especially not if she had been down here for the last seven years.

"It means…" he paused, trying to find the right words to describe it. "It means that he is not like other men."

"No different than all the other masters," she interjected. "They're all the same: arrogant, unfair, and unconcerned with anything that is not relevant to their own comfort."

"Not Robin."

"Will you tell me another lie, say that he's never done wrong by you? That he never has wounded your spirit, or caused you any ill harm?"

"He…" Much came to a pause, thinking it over. There were times, many times that he could recall, one instance or another. Times where Robin had said cruel, harsh words, or had used his misfortune for his own amusement. Not only that, but a few months back, Robin had tried to take his life. Of course, the man couldn't remember anything back then, let alone who he was, and it was near every day for a week that Robin had apologized for almost committing the deed.

"You see," Eleri said with a shrug. "I told you they were all the same."

"Those times do not count," he protested. "He did not mean them."

"And if the bad times mean nothing, how can the good times mean anything?"

For that he had no answer, but he was so positively flustered that he couldn't really even think. How could she say these horrible things about a man she didn't even know? Yet there was some sort of truth behind her words that he could not deny.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he shook his head. No, he would not think like that. Robin had been nothing but kind, and he was a good master, despite what Eleri said. She did not know, could not know anything about him.

"He will come," he stated quietly. And he believed it with all his heart as well.

* * *

He hadn't slept. Couldn't have, even if he had wanted to. Part of him was numb with fear, distressed by the idea that the sheriff would once again change his mind and carry through with the original sentence. He had walked through the castle courtyard that morning, jittered at the sight of the gallows being prepared. It wasn't until noon that they had been taken down, shortly after the sheriff made a public announcement about Marian's current fate.

There was a reward in the air as well. For Hood's capture, this time. Gisborne had snorted from the shadows as he watched the man address the gathering crowd. How many times had a reward been offered? None of them worked. They all loved the outlaw too much. Normally the thought irked him, but Guy could hardly care. There was only one person he loved, and that was Marian.

After his discussion with the sheriff, one that had turned out rather poorly, Gisborne had tried to speak with Marian once again. There was still, to this point, no doubt in his mind that she was innocent. She couldn't possibly be helping Hood, despite what the sheriff said. And though he had not secured her release…or even the promise that she would not hang, he had bought her a couple of days. In that time he had plans, all of which consisted of the same thing the more he thought about them.

He would grovel.

Not the most dignified course of action, but it was all he could think of. Aside from that, the sheriff would most likely earn some amusement from his doings. Perhaps enough that he would actually consider Guy's plea to heart. If the man even had a heart…

Time and time again Vaysey had told him he was weak. Marian would counter that argument, saying instead that he was strong. She talked about deeds…deeds he couldn't even think of doing in front of the sheriff for fear of earning disfavor. But he liked to impress Marian, and at times, at times especially when he knew that she was watching, he would do something…kind.

To a peasant, or a beggar…the lower the scoundrel the better. He had even once flipped a shilling to a small boy who had been swindled by a merchant. How Marian had been impressed then. Of course, she did not know that he took the coin from one of his own guards for repayment. The sheriff stiffed him enough; he couldn't afford to be giving money away like Hood.

The thought had been with him on the way to see her. He had even hidden a bit of food, a small flower inside his leather tunic. The dungeons were no place for a lady, and he knew that she would be longing for some pleasantry, no matter how small. Yet as he reached the door that led down there, he was denied access.

"Vaysey's orders," the one guard had answered.

He could have easily gotten through. There were only two of them, both men having been his own lackey's at one time. Yet the one thing that stopped him was the thought of Marian. No doubt if he continued on, Vaysey would have her punished in his stead. He couldn't fathom what worse fate the man could impose than death, but he wasn't willing to find out.

Frustrated, he had turned away. Arguing with the sheriff got him no further, and after a time he found himself here, taking ale in the local tavern. He wasn't a regular customer for their drink. Gisborne knew the castle had its own supply of the finest wine in Nottinghamshire for no cost. But the castle was the last place he wanted to be right now. He couldn't stand to pace there, knowing that he could neither see nor speak with Marian. He couldn't stand knowing that she was down there, locked in a cell without a single comfort in the world.

The sheriff still promised to hang her shortly after the wedding. Which, the man had mocked, would take place inside the jail cell or not at all. Despite how much Guy longed to make her his wife, he could not do so. As her husband it was his duty to ensure her safety, not hand her over the gallows. Yet what other choice did he have?

The more he thought about it, the more he began to worry. With this night drawing to a close, and the faintest hints of the early morning starting to show, Gisborne knew there were but two days until her sentence was to be carried out. Could he really trust her fate in the hands of the sheriff?

He could wait, he mused, until they were to wed. He could use the opportunity as a distraction, barrel out of there with his sword raised high, Marian pulled along behind. There would be guards, he was certain. And stairs…and corridors…and then most likely more guards. He let out a heavy sigh. They would be stopped even before they left the dungeons, and then there was no telling what Vaysey would do. Most likely nothing would happen to him; instead it was once again Marian that the blame would fall on.

The only way to ensure her safety was to take her from there. This created a rash of problems, however. For if he was to free her, it was obvious she could not stay. As Vaysey's right hand man, Gisborne had a lot of promise. He had lands, power…gold. Perhaps one day he would even become sheriff himself if he played his tokens right. But he would not have Marian, and her departure would always cast suspicion onto him.

He could always leave with her. They could marry, live a simple life. But the question of how he would provide for her was another complication. If he left, he would leave his ranks behind. Perhaps another shire would be looking for the services of qualities he so happened to possess. If that was not the case, Gisborne was neither inclined nor determined to find some measly, wretched job that was meant for peasant's hands. And he was selfish.

He did not want to give up his position, his title. As frustrating as it could be at times to be in service to someone like Vaysey, Gisborne knew that the opportunities that were possibly available were grand. He could not leave that behind. Neither could he let Marian die. To let her walk to the gallows, wife or not, was one thing he knew that he would never forgive himself for. But how to save her?

Escaping in a blaze of glory would not be possible. He could go to the guards and claim that the sheriff had given him orders, but it was unlikely they would listen. With the sheriff having informed him in person the first time, they would expect him to do so a second time. Another idea that was out the window.

He finished off what was left in his mug, wincing at the bitter taste. The wine back at the castle was certainly better. How could anyone settle for drinking this…muck? Gisborne frowned, running a hand over his face as he shook his head. He had to concentrate.

If he could not get Marian out overtly, then he would have to do so in secret. He could get to the dungeons easy enough…the problem came when trying to get past the guards without raising an alarm. Then there was the dungeon itself. He did not have the keys, and the jailer, despite how stupid he was, would not hand them over to anyone. The sheriff had last promised him his head if he did so, in regards to the last time Hood and his men had escaped.

Hood….

He grew still as he thought of the man. It seemed so simple that it was almost ridiculous. Gisborne himself was no expert in freeing prisoners. His duties lay with arresting them, and making certain they remained behind bars. Robin Hood, however, had sprung not only himself, but other prisoners, from each and every form of captivity currently known to man.

No…it was ludicrous. He would not ask the man for help. Not only was his pride at stake, but if the sheriff caught wind of Robin rescuing Marian, then there would be no hope for her. And then…he let out another sigh. There was little hope as it was already. The townsfolk had already begun whispering about the lady that would hang, each word grinding deeper and deeper into Guy as the hour drew late.

Again he tried to think of a way into the dungeons, and a way to safety after that, and each time he came to the same result. Robin Hood. It was infuriating. More so because Guy was beginning to realize that it was the obvious solution to the problem he found himself in. But could he do it?

Could he, Guy of Gisborne, sworn enemy to Robin Hood, ask the man for help? And would he help if Gisborne proceeded to demand it of him? He would. That much was obvious. Robin was too prissy to let anyone hang, least of all a woman. He had to be everyone's hero. And if Robin helped in setting Marian free, he no doubt would take the credit for an idea that rightfully belonged to Gisborne. No…he wouldn't allow it.

But would he allow her to die for the sake of his pride? Gisborne bit his lip as he took on another glass of ale. If she did die, then he would never have her. Giving her freedom and sending her on her way until the turmoil settled, there was always a chance. Certainly she would not forget what he had done for her, and would forever be grateful.

There were two days until the hanging. That was if the sheriff didn't change his mind out of pure boredom and carried out the sentence sooner. He could come up with a number of ways to free her in that time. But his mind was clouded with the outlaw, and try as he might, he could not drive the man from his mind. He knew then, that that was it.

There was only one thing that he could do.

**TBC**


	11. Truce

**Next chapter is here, hope you all enjoy. Love reading your comments!**

**Thanks to Kegel for beta!**

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**Chapter Eleven: Truce**

The fire burned low in the late evening light, but even so he didn't add another log. It was sufficient enough to do its job. The small coney he had felled turned out to be a perfect size, cooking easily over the flames as he pulled free the map that had been given to him.

Robin had left early that morning, even before the sun had risen, traveling south as far as he dared in the daylight. Will had tried to reason with him, one last attempt to come along, but still Robin resisted. No one would find one man a threat, but a group of wayward travelers was bound to draw some suspicion. Not only that, but he was counting on the others to watch over the villages in his absence. And Marian.

Using a knife he cut free a small piece of meat, chewing on it slowly as he set the map down. He was disappointed in the fact that he hadn't been able to see her before his departure. Will would manage to get word to her, he was certain, but it didn't change the fact that she was still to wed. Perhaps it was a blessing, he reasoned. If God had any will in it, Robin would not be in Nottinghamshire when the wedding took place. She would simply be Lady Gisborne upon his return. That…that was something he might be able to handle.

He took another piece of meat, turning his attention back to the map. It was the first time he had stopped since leaving Sherwood, his travels taking him just north of Banbury into Oxfordshire. With any luck, Robin knew he could easily travel for another few hours, perhaps even make it to Rousham before stopping for the night. Witheridge was still several days of travel away, and he wanted to cover as much distance as possible. Where he would go from there…that was one thing he did not know.

Until now, he had never once stopped to contemplate what fate had befallen Much. He had always assumed that the man was alive and reasonably well. Logic told Robin that he should be. The men that Thomas had described did not fit his perception of murders, nor did it explain for what reasons they had to take men captive.

Robin had once heard stories about children from wealthy families being taken; sons and daughters of lords and nobles, then ransomed for a hefty sum. It was always paid; or so he was told, and he would believe it as well. Sons inherited both lands and title, and no father, noble or not, would stand to think of what might befall their daughter if the ransom was unmet.

But Thomas was neither; he was an orphan. Allan had stated the pair was indeed looking for the orphanage in the first place, so it was through no mistake they had taken Thomas prisoner. Much had only ended up in that fray through mere chance. Why they had taken Much as a replacement, Robin could not say. As an outlaw, there was a price on the man's head. Even more so that he was a member of Robin's gang. Vaysey was offering hefty rewards for anyone who brought any of them forward, dead or alive. But that claim would have to be accepted in Nottingham, and evidence displayed they had gone opposite ways. It was a worrisome thought.

The fact they had not taken such an opportunity could mean one of two things. That they were not interested in silver and gold, or that they had never known about the reward in the first place. If the latter was true, then what interest did they have in Much? Why take hostage a man you didn't even know? Robin let out a sigh, rubbing his temples as the worry washed over him.

Perhaps they had taken Much for the same reason they had tried to take Thomas. The hope that no one would notice. That would mean that they were trying to remain inconspicuous, which worried Robin most of all. What deed could they be up to as to wish to hide the truth of their nature, and what part did Much play in all of this?

Yet he held some hope. Much was compliant, and compliance kept one alive in similar situations. The man may not think in such terms, but having been a servant since early childhood had inclined him to such behavior without thought. True enough, Much had grown bolder during their time at war, but even now it wasn't enough to suggest boldness or defiance. Though Robin was certain that would work in the man's favor, it was proving to be rather troublesome for himself.

It meant that the path he needed to follow would be harder to find. Someone who was stubborn and defiant would have caused a ruckus throughout any village they passed through, would have done their best to leave clues to where they had gone, knowing that someone would eventually wind up searching for them. Dax and Eloy had most likely threatened Much into keeping his head down, and submissive as he was, Robin feared the man had done exactly as he was told. Robin knew that his work was cut out for him, and that if he found anything it would be a stroke of luck. Witheridge, right now, was his only source of hope.

He rolled the map up, sliding it back inside his satchel as he doused the fire, kicking the logs apart. The thick smoke wafted up into the sky, curling over itself in protest at having its life ended prematurely. Robin waited only long enough to ensure that it would not come back to life, before hefting the pack on his shoulders, and setting off.

* * *

It was harder the second day. The things Eleri had said weighed heavily on his mind, distracting him from sleep, leaving him worn and exhausted. The aches and pains he had acquired the day before were all the more so, his fingers nearly numb and unable to even follow the simplest of commands in holding the pick tight enough to break free the coal. Eleri had helped him through the day, dropping her own share of coal into his buckets to make it seem as though he wasn't struggling to keep up. At first he had protested, but grew silent after she took no heed and continued to do so anyway.

At the end of the day he had collapsed, utterly exhausted, sleeping without even taking food. The third day, proved to be even more difficult.

Yet by the end of the week, Much was starting to get a hang of it. He wasn't as worn when waking, despite the early hour. The food, though small it had been, seemed to fill him easier, and the mining was not as a difficult as it first had seemed. During this time he had kept mostly to himself. Eleri, however, had seemed to take an interest in him.

While the other miners in their small group had paid him little heed, Eleri had shown him nearly every trick she knew. She taught him simple things; like how to bind a bit of cloth around the handle of the pick to soften the blows, and how to use the rock of the cave to sharpen the pick so that it grabbed a hold of the coal better. This, she had warned, should only be done when Garner and the guards were distracted. Sharpened picks were seen too much of a danger, a use of weaponry among the workers, but it made for an easier day of work.

There were other, smaller tricks she had shown him to make each day a little more bearable. But all that she had said was cast away at night when dreams overcame him. He couldn't remember them at first, too worn and weary from the day's work, but after a time he could recall every single detail. It was hard, waking sometimes, after having dreamt of being back in Sherwood, of being with Robin and the others.

The forest was no paradise, he knew. You could never be quite certain when or even where your next meal would come from, or what potential danger lurked in the shadows. Days could get hot, nights cold, and when storms came there was little shelter against it, even with Will's craft and the new camp. Certainly it had been better than simply sleeping under the trees, but heavy rains could flood the camp, leaving it covered in muck, and when it was dry, there was always the danger of fire.

Yet while it was no paradise, it was home. It was a strange thought; years ago he would have never imagined living among the trees, and being content. But now it was something he only longed for. He missed his bed, the cooking, the taste of his favorite stew. The forest was always open, and even on the darkest nights it did not match the darkness he both saw and felt here and now. He missed the fresh air, the sun…and he missed Robin. Even God knew that he was beginning to miss Allan, which in itself was a shocking realization.

And every night, he dreamt of them all. It made it all the harder to wake, to come back to reality, to this grim fate. There was no sun, and each breath was tainted with the heavy grasp of dust and soot. It was always cold, always wet, and every scurrying sound of rodent feet made him shudder inwardly, only able to think on how the rats themselves were better off than he was. At least they were happy to be here; they would be the only ones.

Eleri promised it would get easier. She said that it took time, but that he would grow accustomed to it. Much doubted it. Each night before he fell asleep he whispered a prayer that Robin would find him, wondering mildly if God could even hear him from way down here. Robin had assured him a time ago that God could hear him from anywhere if he only asked.

When he was young, he hadn't really believed in God. He couldn't remember either of his parents, and so assumed they died long ago, and his former master who had raised him hadn't bothered him with the subject. Much had only known that there _was _something or someone called a God, and that He did things, but that was about it.

When Robin had first become his master, Much was surprised by the man's openness, and intrigued by the things he said. Robin had been amused by him, had laughed at some of the questions he had asked, but he had answered him. In time he believed as well; it was easy to say the prayers, to go to church. In fact, he even liked doing so. Yet now, he couldn't help but wonder if God was punishing him for something he had done; or perhaps something he had forgotten to do.

"Do you really believe that?" Eleri wondered when Much had asked her.

"My master, he says that we do not always understand His will."

The day was well done, and they should have probably been sleeping, but instead they sat near the dwindling fire, watching the flames devour the remaining wood. Soon it would only be a pile of festering coals, and by then Much knew that the night would be halfway over. Tomorrow would prove a long day for the both of them if they failed to get any rest soon, but neither of them had suggested turning in for the night.

"And what have you done that would deserve this?"

There was mirth in her voice, and he imagined that she was smiling. Though her tone was light, Much was still deeply troubled. This was something that had recently started to plague his dreams.

"War," he answered simply.

He had not killed as many men as Robin had. His master had been brave, fierce and strong. The man had led many men into battle, had nearly drowned himself in blood. Yet Much had killed, too. He had been one of the men who had followed, always staying relatively close to Robin's side, aiding his master when it was asked of him. The first time he had drawn blood, the first death he had caused, it had made him physically ill. He had been brave on Robin's part, had claimed that he was fine when Robin had asked, but when he wasn't looking, Much had wept.

Even after the war, the killing hadn't stopped. Robin wished for no lives to be taken, but sometimes there was no choice. The more Much thought about it, the more he wondered if this was the punishment God had chosen for him. Even the reminder that it had been a Holy War wasn't enough to convince him otherwise. Eleri laughed.

"It's not funny," he protested bitterly. It was unnerving how she treated everything he said as a joke. Robin, at least, would consider some of what he said seriously.

"You still want me to believe you fought in the war? That you actually helped to save the king's life?" she chuckled.

"I don't care what you believe," he ground out between his teeth. He couldn't keep silent forever, but the more he talked to Eleri the more he actually considered doing so. "It happened."

"Why would your master even bring you? A servant, to war? Was there a shortage of squires? Or perhaps he was hoping you would be killed during the war, so that way he wouldn't have to sell you."

"My master taught me how to fight. He asked for me to come; he didn't demand it."

He hated the things that she said. At every opportunity she was trying to make Robin into some sort of cold and heartless monster.

"What business would he have in teaching you how to fight?" she wondered.

"I wished to learn," Much responded quietly. He had wanted to learn how to wield a sword since he was but a boy. He supposed it was something all little boys wanted to learn. Yet his former master had made it quite clear that the closest servants got to handling a sword was when they polished the weaponry. When he first asked Robin, he had been certain the man would laugh at him, and tell him the same. Instead Robin had grinned, and later, given him his own sword.

She scoffed, and he could tell that she still didn't believe him. He couldn't blame her for that, he supposed. It was still hard for him to believe that Robin had done so. The memory now made him smile, recalling how awkward it had been to first hold the sword. He could also remember the first time he had wounded Robin. It had been but a scratch, enough to draw a thin line of blood down the man's arm.

At the time Much had been horror-struck. Striking a master was a punishable offense, but Much had drawn blood, an even graver offense. He had expected Robin to be angry, had expected to be back-handed, whipped or something worse. Robin, however, had smiled, congratulated him, and then goaded him into another sparring match.

When the king had gone to war, and had called upon Robin, Much had assumed that he would be left behind. It was a surprise when the man came to him. Much had gone to war only because Robin had asked. And Robin had only asked because Much had known how to fight. Much, as well, had wondered why there was no squire. After all, war was no place for a simple manservant.

_I trust you more than some arrogant lackey._

That was all Robin had said.

Yet he still couldn't help but wonder why Robin had taught him how to fight in the first place. They were still fairly young then; Much didn't know his own age as he couldn't even recall his own birthing day, but he assumed that he and Robin were only a few years in difference. That being said, he could attribute Robin's decision to boredom. Come to think of it, Robin really hadn't changed. More than half of the man's harebrained ideas were derived from languidness. He never seemed happy unless he was causing some sort of trouble. More than once he had been the brunt of one of the man's jokes.

He couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason Robin had asked him to come. If perhaps the man feared that he would be bored without someone else to torment. Surely that was not the reason, he convinced himself. Robin was not that sort of man, at least not all of the time.

He looked up as Eleri let out a sigh, watching as she drew the blankets around her small frame, resting her head on her arms. "We should get some rest."

Yes…they should. Much did not like the prospect of a full day's work without any sleep. But just because he should, did not mean that he could. He had the uncanny feeling that it was something he wouldn't be able to do tonight, no matter how much he should.

* * *

They were down to four. It was a strange feeling of déjà vu, bringing back memories of the time their group had been split in two. Aside from Djaq, it was the same. Almost. The decision that split them apart now was one of necessity, rather than heated arguments and stubborn pride. It had been easier then; Robin and the others had still been in Sherwood at the least. Now they were on their own, without knowledge of when, or even if, the others would return. The feeling was unnerving to say the least.

"He will come back."

Will watched from where he sat, Djaq eyeing him from across the fire. She had been busy throughout the morning, experimenting with herbs and berries, concocting different mixtures. One time Will had asked her what exactly she was doing, and she had tried to explain. It was lost on him though, and he hadn't attempted to approach the subject again after that.

"We should have all gone," Will answered after a moment. Robin could take care of himself, but the thought still did not ease his worries. What if Robin needed their help? How would they even know? Would they just spend their days here, always wondering, always guessing?

"And who would protect the people?"

It was a logical reasoning, but it didn't mean that he liked it. Robin had once told them that they were stronger as a group, rather than simply as individuals. Apparently that philosophy didn't concern him. Will let out a snort, shaking his head. "I just hope he finds Much."

"We all do," she responded with a small smile.

Will found himself watching her as she went about her task. For a time now he had been keeping his distance, laden with both wounds and worries. At the time when his hurts were the worst, he had pushed the hardest. He cared for her, and had the slight impression that she did as well. Yet he couldn't be certain, and the last thing he desired was her pity for his feeble state.

Perhaps she had read his mind, and backed off, but more likely the cause was that she had pulled away on her own. They had been friendly, tolerate of one another, but what used to be there was no more. Will couldn't say if he was relieved, or disappointed. As much as he wanted for something to happen, he knew logically it never could. They were trapped in a war, fighting against the sheriff, against Guy of Gisborne, against poverty. And there was no room on the battlefield for love.

He wondered if that was the reason why Robin had given up on Marian so easily. Perhaps he too realized that nothing could happen between them. That the world they lived in would not allow it. But letting nothing happen, and something unforgivable happen, was something different. Robin would never forgive himself if Marian was to wed, least of all Gisborne. More importantly, Will knew of the danger Marian was in. If Gisborne, or the sheriff, ever found out her true alliance, there would be no telling of what would happen.

And so was the question. Robin had specifically stated to not do anything, to just let things be. Will had never given into the demand privately, his mind working to figure out a way to put a stop to it. The logical solution would to be talk to Marian of course. If he could get her to see reason, to have her agree to come along, maybe not to the forest, but to another village where she would be safe, where Gisborne could not find her, then it would be done. It would require a trip to Nottingham, a way to sneak inside the castle. That would be easy enough given the times they had done so already.

"What are you thinking?"

He met Djaq's gaze, silent for a moment before he shook his head. "Nothing."

That was one promise he could not break. The knowledge of what was going to happen. It would be safer to bring the others along, but that would require an explanation, and the revelation of Marian's marriage. Robin would be furious if he let that one slip. He would be furious regardless if he knew what Will was planning. But he would thank him in the end, Will knew. It was the right thing to do, not just for Robin, but for Marian as well.

The decision was already made. He would go to Nottingham alone, and he would need an excuse to throw the others off. The next morning they would scout the villages, and so it would be easy enough to slip away. They often parted ways and so it would draw no suspicion to do so. But how would he explain Marian's appearance if he was successful? That would come in time, he supposed.

"Gisborne!"

The call came from below, Will turning to see both John and Allan scrambling up the hill. They came to a pause just before the opening of the camp, Allan pointing back the way they had just come.

"The North Road; Gisborne's coming."

Djaq was first to her feet, kicking dirt to kill the fire, Will moving to close the camp as well. It would be a miracle in itself if anything gave their position away this far from the road, but it was foolish to not take any precautions. Will snatched the axe free from the log as he ran by, holding it tight as he followed the others down.

Even without Robin, there was no needed communication. Will pulled off to the right, watching as John and Allan went to the left, Djaq staying near the middle as they moved through the trees. His pace slowed as he drew near the last ridge, a small cliff that ran adjacent to the road that provided adequate cover while still allowing him to get a good glimpse of the road. He could see the figure atop the steed, pushing the animal harshly along. Gisborne, without doubt, was in some sort of hurry. Such haste could not promise pleasantries for anyone.

What was more curious was the fact that the man was alone. Gisborne did not dare to travel through Sherwood on his own, always toting along a number of guards. The man was brazen, yes, but even he would be a fool to chance his luck when crossing through Robin's territory. The thought alone angered Will.

Gisborne deserved nothing less than death itself. He had been the cold, callous hand that had ruled Locksley in Robin's absence, doing the sheriff's bidding and collecting taxes despite the fact no one had anything to give. With families starving, Will had taken it upon himself to find food, flitching a deer from the forest. It was foolish to hope that Gisborne would let it pass. Instead the man had been prompt on bringing the news to the sheriff, and in the end both of Will's parents had suffered for it. His mother had paid with her life, his father, with a hand.

Gisborne's injustices did not stop there. Will had almost paid with his life, as had his brother. Then there were the things the man had done to Robin. Things that were unspeakable, worse than what he alone had experienced with all his pain. These were but a few of the things the man had done. And to see him as adviser to the sheriff, having power, causing more pain, only made Will's blood boil. It would be so easy to end things here and now, he was a good enough shot with a bow that he could hit his mark from this distance. But killing was not something they did. That was what Robin had taught him.

So he kept his calm. Gisborne, he noted, was headed in the direction of Locksley. It left him to wonder what the man's agenda was, seeing on how quickly he was moving. But no sooner had he thought it, that Gisborne reigned in his horse, the animal protesting at the harsh treatment. It turned twice in a circle, jittery on its legs and snorting as Gisborne fought to control and calm the beast, his curses traveling easy through the open air.

"HOOD!"

The scream echoed the woods, traveling further than his muffled curses beforehand. It was amusing to watch, leaving Will to wonder if the man was always this suspicious and paranoid. Maybe he expected it was Robin's doing for the reason his horse was so nervous, but Will knew the animal was more irate than nervous at the harsh treatment.

"Show yourself!" Gisborne demanded, his voice taunt. "I know that you are out there. I do not have time for this!"

Will let out a muffled laugh, grinning to himself. What did the man expect? That if he yelled loudly enough, that he and the others would jump out of the trees, arms wide open in surrender? Gisborne was proving to be more of a fool than originally thought.

"Are you such a coward that you must hide in your trees?!"

Will watched as the man hastily unclasped the belt about his waist, mustering up enough force to propel the sheathed weapon off the road and into the dense undergrowth. Gisborne spread his hands in the air to show he meant no harm, an unbelievable gesture to witness.

"I'm alone. I'm unarmed. Surely you cannot be that much of a coward that you cannot face me under those terms."

Will's amusement was fading fast, replaced with mild worry. What need could Gisborne possibly have of Robin that would send the man into such frenzy? His eyes narrowed, lips pressing together tautly as he scanned the surrounding area. This could be a trap. Guards could have moved in unaware to the outlaws during the night, could have positioned themselves while Will and the others slept. Now Gisborne could be putting on the show, the final bait, to lure them out, to trap them.

Robin had once told him to check his surroundings to ensure the safety of all. His eye caught the smallest of movements, of the leaves that drifted in the wind, of the rustling of the branches as critters ran through. But he could see no indication that this was some sort of trap. It would be best not to go. They had nothing to gain, and it was foolish to risk their safety because their enemy seemed to be experiencing some sort of mental breakdown.

"If you do not show yourself," Gisborne spoke again, agitated by the silence he was garnering in response, "then Marian dies."

Will felt his breath catch in his throat. How Marian played into all of this was a mystery. Maybe Gisborne was trying to bait Robin, to goad the man into stepping out from the safety of hiding. Robin was not here, so if that was the case it would be a failure on Gisborne's part.

But what if it was true? Gisborne was to marry her, not kill her, which meant there was something more sinister going on. If Marian was in danger, they could not abandon her. Her death would destroy Robin. Will was moving even before he realized what he was doing. The whistle came in warning just moments before he stepped out, but by then it was too late.

Gisborne regarded him with a stern gaze, his lip twisting in a disgusted manner. "So Robin is a coward; he sends his puppet instead."

"Robin does not trust you," Will answered simply, ignoring the mild insult. It would do best to pretend that Robin was still here. "He requests that you give us your demands. He also warns that if this is a trap, he will kill you."

He knew that the others were poised behind him, ready to let loose with arrows if anything should go wrong. They may be furious with him for stepping out in the first place, but they would not leave him vulnerable.

"I want Locksley," Gisborne spat out, hardly fazed by what had just been said.

"Say your demands, or leave," Will warned. They could not give him Robin, would not give him Robin even if they could. But neither could he ignore what had been said about Marian.

Still Gisborne said nothing, and Will shrugged his shoulders as though he did not care, turning to melt back into the trees.

"Wait."

Will had planned on heading to Nottingham to find out for himself what was going on if Gisborne refused to speak. But the man sounded desperate enough, and that alone worried Will.

"Marian is to hang."

"Hang?"

That was a sentence only the sheriff could cast, and this was the very thing that Robin had feared for so long.

"Apparently the sheriff believes she has been helping you lot," Gisborne snarled, "which is impossible in itself. The sheriff will not listen to reason."

Did the sheriff know, or did he speculate? That was a question Will could not ask. If Gisborne still believed her innocence, he would not betray that. Steeling his breath he pushed aside his emotions, pretending not to care.

"Why come to us? Why not just free her yourself?"

"I have already tried, but I cannot get near her," Gisborne muttered in reply.

"And you expect us to do so?"

"You and the rest of the outlaw vermin seem to get in and out of there often enough. Surely you can do so again."

"Why would we risk our lives to help you?"

Already a plan was forming in his mind. They could not leave Marian to die, but he could not seem overly eager to help. This would be a difficult task. For if any compassion was shown, it may betray Marian, and cause her worse suffering than what was already planned. Yet Will knew that they could not fail. Robin would be devastated if they did.

"Hood will not allow a woman to die," Gisborne explained bitterly. "And it is to help Marian, not me."

"How do we know that this is not a trap?"

"You must trust me."

Will laughed. There was very little about the situation that was amusing. Granting Gisborne trust was just as dangerous as trying to dodge a wildfire; devastating and completely unpredictable.

"You must," Gisborne insisted none the less. "I will swear upon anything, upon everything under this damnable forest that I will give you my truce until Marian is safe once again. I do not have the time to bicker. It is not easy to ask for help from my enemies, but I have no other choice."

The desperation in the man's voice was easy to hear, Gisborne on the verge of begging. Gisborne was clever, but never this clever; the desperation was real. Even so he could not fully trust the man, yet neither could he ignore the request. Marian would pay the ultimate price if the wrong decision was made.

"We will help," Will answered after a moment.

"She is to hang Saturday," Gisborne explained quietly. "We can meet up tonight, see her out, and get her to safety. There will be someone that will meet her here, in the forest-"

"We do it our way." Will was not about to fall into an obvious trap.

Gisborne came to a stop, about ready to protest, but no sound came from his open mouth. He nodded, letting out a sigh. "Very well. What _is _your way?"

"You'll find out."

TBC


	12. A Secret Place

**Sorry about the long wait, I ended up losing my computer to a virus for a time. Thanks for waiting patiently though, here is the next installment!**

**Thanks to _Kegel_ for the beta :)**

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**Chapter Twelve: A Secret Place**

"What are you thinking?!"

He stood there, like some baffled child that had just been rebuked for doing something that was done naturally. If she hadn't been so angry with him she might have found it funny, even a little cute. Yet she was fuming, and for good reason.

"We do not make deals with Gisborne," John spat near her. Of course that caught the man's attention. Whatever she said held no merit; but John was big, John was strong…John didn't recognize the concept of friendly fire, and why it wasn't so greatly appreciated among friends. Will knew this as well, the man taking a step back in case John felt the need to exercise with his staff.

"What else was I supposed to do?" he questioned, throwing his hands in the air. "We can't let Marian die."

"Yeah, but we don't even know if she's gonna hang," Allan threw in his own opinion. The man was the only one not in the small circle, leaning against a tree as he flicked strays bugs off his flesh with his thumb and forefinger.

"Can we even take that chance? Marian's helped us out many of times. If she is to hang, then the least we can do is save her."

"We could have found another way!" Djaq spat out. "You did not have to agree to help him. Now he will know we are coming. There will be a trap."

"There might be. That's why I did not tell him what we planned on doing."

"Because there is no plan," Allan mused from where he stood. "We go in, we get the girl, we get back out. Gisborne knows we'll go to the dungeons; that's where they're keeping her, or so he says. Even Gisborne will figure that one out."

"We could have found another way," Djaq repeated , ignoring Allan's comments. "You could have said no. Make him think that we would not go."

"He would still know," Will argued, bitterness creeping into his voice. "What's done is done."

Unfortunately it was. If Marian was to hang, then they would have to save her. And it was not like they could go and fetch Gisborne now, and say that they were not coming in order to gain the element of surprise. That alone would probably land all of them in the dungeons, without even sorting together a plan in the first place. With a sigh she ran a hand through her short hair, resting it on the back of her neck as she tried to think.

She knew the reasons behind Robin's decisions; she understood them. And without the man, she felt incredibly vulnerable. It was fine for them to stay to the woods, to make the drops, or fill the stores. It was even fine to collect donations, forced or not, from passing travelers. But to go against Gisborne, against the sheriff, into the very heart of the castle itself, was a far different expedition. One that required real thought, not just the simple action of doing. And they were two men short.

That made matters all the worse. Robin was the daredevil, the one ready to take all and cover their escape. Much was the man of reason, the one who, for the most part, had a back door in case things went ill. These were two roles that now had to be filled, and part of her was afraid that they would fail even before it began.

"We need a way in."

She nodded. "The sewers?"

They ran most the length of the castle, and in some spots the wall was worn enough to provide a solid area for climbing. The smell alone would provide them with enough cover sound wise; after all, no guard was brave enough to hang his head down a privy in order to listen for someone sloshing along. Yet that only led to the main corridors; there still would be the question of getting down to the dungeons, which were supposedly heavily guarded.

"What about the passageway?" Allan wondered. "The one that Marian found, right? That leads straight to the dungeons…well, a part of the dungeons…"

"I would assume the sheriff and Gisborne were quick in closing that one up," Will muttered briefly.

It made sense. The sheriff would not allow such a passageway to remain open. Dungeons were meant for holding prisoners, not allowing them to escape. It could be easy, she assumed, for one of them to get arrested. It would ensure a way into the dungeons, but not necessarily a way out. Djaq pressed her lips together, trying to think. What would Robin do in this case?

"We can wait until Saturday morning" Will suggested. "If Marian is to hang, we can cause a distraction, free her in the confusion. If there is no hanging, Gisborne and the sheriff won't be able to trap us if we stay in the crowds."

"Last time we waited we were too late," Allan muttered bitterly. "My brother was already dead by then."

"We cannot wait," John agreed.

Djaq was agreeing as well. The sheriff would move fast if he suspected that Marian was consorting with them. Why the man was even waiting a day was a surprise, unless of course the man was expecting them to come. In which case he was right. She let out a sigh. Either way was not giving them a lot of promise.

"Nottingham," Will stated quietly. "We'll go from there. If Marian is to hang, the people will know. We'll figure out something from there."

* * *

Woodborough was a small village, small enough that it had not been listed on the map provided by Brom. It was what Robin had been hoping for. Earlier he had passed through a larger town, one that had been bustling at the seams in hopes of garnering some information. Everyone there had been in a hurry, rude and gruff and unwilling to linger in order to answer questions from some simple wanderer. Robin had not stayed long.

For the most part he kept to himself. At night he took to the forest and slept in short bursts, waking at every unfamiliar sound, and during the day he kept to the less traveled roads, stepping off into the brush at the first sight or sound of an approaching traveler. It had only been three days since leaving Nottingham, and already Robin knew that he could not continue at this pace.

His food supplies had already been diminished, and hunting had proven to be a poor sport the further south he went, leaving him with a petty diet of seeds and berries collected on the way. Water was plentiful and easy enough to find, satisfying his hunger to a degree, but it would not last forever. And he needed a decent night of rest. He did not have the money to buy his way into an inn, and nothing to barter with for food. His hope was that people in Woodborough would be more charitable to others than those of the larger towns. Robin had seen it happen more than once.

Larger towns, such as Nottingham, were a mixture of people on business, with no time or patience to waste, and every thought and effort was turned towards making a profit. In smaller villages, it was more about the work, and sharing amongst others in order to ensure that everyone was taken care of. While Robin knew that he could not expect this of every village, he still held some hope.

He spent the night in the forest, moving into the village after the morning fast had taken place in order to not spread any alarm. Villagers would receive him more openly if he entered in the midst of the day rather than sneaking through at night. There were some wary glances his way, but no one seemed too keen on approaching him. Robin passed by the first few houses, his eyes searching out the village and how it lay.

He would get the most response from a miller, or perhaps a carpenter; someone who was significant in the village and dealt with outsiders on occasion as part of their trade. Robin wasn't certain of what he was to do yet; he had no money, nothing of real value, and no real knowledge of how the villagers would respond to his presence if he remained.

He had not been this far from home since the war. Back then he had been among the company of some of the finest warriors England had to offer, and under protection of the king and so had little to fear when traveling through the country. Now he bore no mark of a crusader, or even a noble, his clothes were worn and dirtied, his stomach hungry. He would pass off as little more than a beggar, which he believed would be better than an outlaw. How far his outlawry stretched he wasn't certain.

Back home he knew well enough of when to still his tongue, and when to assure someone of who he was. Some people took comfort in his name, as though it was some sort of promise. Others would trap him and turn him over in a heartbeat in order to collect the prize on his head. Robin was no fool; if anyone had heard of the infamous Robin Hood it would have been through offered rewards from the sheriff of Nottingham, and not through the deeds Robin had done in the small villages about his home. Anyone here would more likely be foe than friend, if they found out who he truly was. That was why he had to choose his words carefully.

He saw the movement from the corner of his eye, and he was turning before he even had time to think. The thatching wasn't heavy, just awkward, proving cumbersome for just one person. Robin balanced the one end of bundles in his arm, helping the woman lift it from the cart. He could hear her sigh in relief as they set one end on the ground, the other coming to rest against the fence.

"Thank you."

"That seems like a lot of work for one person," Robin nodded to the cart. There were still easily a few dozen bundles left on the cart, all as large as or even larger than the one just pulled off. A couple of boys could easily handle it, but certainly not one lone woman.

"Usually my husband takes care of it," she explained, "but there was business today, and he needs the cart ready by morning. I don't have any other choice."

"Let me help you," Robin offered, already removing his pack.

"I have no way to pay you."

"I am not here to ask for money," he reassured her, jumping onto the cart. It would take some time to unload everything, and from there Robin was not sure of where he would go or what he would do. He still needed supplies, and longed for a solid night of rest, but he wasn't certain anymore if he would get it from here. His journey here now was beginning to seem as though it had been in vain, and would only put him further behind.

Yet he would not simply leave this woman to fend for herself when the task was obviously beyond her ability to perform. Part of him was wondering as to why no one else had offered help, and why she had so obviously expected that he would request money in return for lending a hand. Whatever the case, Robin hoped he would at least garner some information, hoping that someone had either seen, or even heard, of the two men traveling through with a third.

* * *

He was the first one to use to the water. He liked being first, it was always clean that way, instead of dirtied with dust and a layer of grime. It was cold, as expected, and despite the chill in the air it felt refreshing on his heated skin. Much hated the cloth that wrapped about his head, even though he knew it was to help protect him. It made much more sense in his mind to simply let all the slaves go. Then no one would have to wear the heavy, grimy bits of fabric that made you sweat unforgivably.

He splashed the water on his face, droplets clinging to his eyelashes and trailing off his nose and back into the bucket. His fingers moved to wipe off the excess, running down his cheeks and over his chin, wiping at his beard. It was still strange, to feel how long it had grown, and Much wanted nothing more than to be able to trim it back. Back at camp he could do that easily given a good sharp knife and a bit of glass to watch what he was doing. Here, there was nothing he could use, and so he had to learn to put up with it.

Eleri gave him some hope. Apparently every few months they were allowed a brief moment to shave and shorten their hair. Much was not sure of how long he had been here , having lost track of the days long ago. At first he had kept track, using pieces of old, charred wood to mark the ground just under his bed roll. After a while he had given up.

The marks had only smudged into one another, and even if they had remained in-tact, it wouldn't have mattered, for he could only count so high. But he hoped he would be allowed to shave soon. The way the fabric rubbed at his beard made his face itch, and sweat became easily stuck between the tiny hairs and he didn't like the feel of it at all.

"Are you just going to stand there?"

He met Eleri's gaze, apologizing meekly as he moved out of the way. Everyone was eager to wash, and he was eager to eat, despite the fact it was the same food as it was always. It was something he had grown used to. When he had been away at war with Robin, their diet had changed little. Food was hard to come by across seas, dependent on stores coming from England that could hold for such a length of travel, and any trading that was done in towns and markets had been for quantity, not quality. Of course, things had changed when they had initiated into the King's Private Guard. There had been what seemed an endless supply of meat, of fine wine and cheese, and even exotic bits of food Much had never seen before.

That, of course, had only come after a time of fighting. Then Robin had been wounded, and the pair sent home, having to once again ration their supplies so that they would not go hungry. Therefore Much was familiar with a lack of variety, and he ate without complaint. Eleri sat near him, as she always did, finishing her own meal in the same silence. Soon it would be time to sleep, and when they woke the day would follow as it always did. It made him miss life in the forest all the more. That was a luxury compared to here.

He found Eleri watching him, and Much couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"I want to show you something," she moved to her feet, indicating that he should follow. His brows furled in confusion. The others were already bedding down, some even already asleep, and the day's work had left him longing for the same. Aside from that, what could there be in here that was so fascinating that it could not wait for another time?

"Come on," she held out her hand to him, and after a moment Much accepted hesitantly. Eleri pulled him forward, stopping to pull free one of the torches that had been suspended from the wall, the flame lighting their way as they moved throughout the bodies on the ground. Few looked up, and those that did lay right back down, with hardly any interest. It was strange, to be walking among them all.

One of the things he had learned early on was that each group stayed to their own. There were no interactions among the lots, despite the fact that their masters were not down here to watch them. Garner as well as the other guards who took charge of the workers did not linger here, turning instead to their warm beds above ground. Much envied them. Though they stayed in the mines during the day, they were always allowed to go back up at night, and every fifth day they stayed above while another guard filled their spots. Much would give every morsel of food he had for even a few moments in the sun.

He shook the longing from his thoughts, nearly stumbling over the rocky floor. There was a word of caution from Eleri, and he watched as she moved up the side of the cave, half-climbing, half-clambering over a pile of jumbled boulders, and into a small hole that was barely big enough for her. Much wasn't sure if he would be able to fit through, but he was able to just fit.

The tunnel widened a little, and Much could hardly wonder as to why he had never noticed it before. Of course the cave was always dark, and it was a bit away from where they slept, but this path obviously led somewhere and it was a wonder why it was not blocked, or heavily used. Size could have something to do with it, he imagined. Even now he had to stoop, nearly crawling on hands and knees through some parts as Eleri led the way.

It was slow going, each twist and turn hardly seen even with the aid of the torch, and more than once he hit his head, letting out a muffled cry as he massaged his head with timid motions to try and clam the ache. Eleri was of no real help, only suggesting that he be more careful, which he was trying, but it was hard to remember he couldn't lift his head very high, and that was hard to not do because he wanted to see where he was going.

They came to the last turn, another warning from her to watch his head came as she slipped through. Much followed, successfully he might add, stretching as the walls around him widened onto a small ledge that jutted out before dropping off into the darkness. The crawl had left him sore, even more so than a full day's work, and part of him was a bit miffed at the fact that she just had him do all of that. For what? To go to yet another cave? They were all same, and his opinion had not changed for the better…

Eleri's smile was the first thing he saw, a soft, mirthful grin playing on her lips. He watched her in confusion, glancing around him only when she nodded. The fire from the torch was small, but the flickering flames cast shadows around them, light dancing on the walls, the floor, the ceiling.

Here the walls were not all black and grey. Instead they were light, almost a cream, or a yellow, and strange rocks hung from the ceiling above like icicles that hung from roofs and trees in the midst of winter. Some seemed to be upside down, coming from the ground and turned about as if they had been confused on what way they were supposed to go. The walls were smooth, like water frozen in motion, and even now Much could hear the intermittent drips of water far below.

"How?"

Eleri laughed, holding the torch out so that it lit more of the cave. "Amazing, isn't it?"

It was. Much had never seen anything like it, had never even known …There was a lot he had seen on his travels with Robin, beauty like he had not seen back in England, but even that did not compare . Tentatively he reached out, fingers pressing against the strange forms, surprised to learn it was hard, like rock. It was rock…but rocks were not like this, rocks were a strange, almost roundish shape, and these…

"This…you knew about this?"

Eleri nodded. "I wanted to show you earlier, but it's hard, I mean, when you first start. You spend your day working, then you sleep because you're tired."

That he could understand. If Eleri had suggested that he go anywhere before, Much probably would have declined. His eyes searched the cavern, of what little he could see, an idea forming in his head. If this was here, then surely there was more, and that meant…

"We could escape."

"How?"

"Well, there's water, the water has to come from somewhere, right?"

"Much, we can't see the bottom," Eleri told him softly. "Drop a pebble down there, it falls a long while before it hits ground. A fall would kill you, and there's no hope in climbing. Look at the sides. Smooth, like a newborn babe's bottom."

Much wasn't sure about that one, he had never touched a baby's bottom, or anyone else's for that matter, but he could understand to what she was trying to say. He too could see how the walls of the cave slopped like water falling, and from here he could see no visible holds at all.

"There has to be a way," he protested, glancing around. There was a bit of fresh air down here, a promising sign. The breeze, the water…there was an opening, and if they could reach it, then they could go free.

"There is no way," she told him gently. "If there was any chance of anyone leaving, we would not be allowed to come here at all. We are lucky they even allow us this small respite."

He knew, in his heart he knew she was telling the truth. But he didn't want to believe it. It was beautiful, yes, but tormenting as well. He realized then that they were no closer to escape than when they were in the mines, just one tunnel away from the ladder that would lead to their freedom. Much bit his lip, turning away.

"It was one of the reasons I was afraid to bring you," she told him quietly. "I hoped it would make you happy, if only for a little while. I'm sorry."

"No," he shook his head, trying to chase away the disappointment. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. It was ridiculous to think that there was a way to escape. If there was, then surely she would have already done so. "It is beautiful. It must be nice to come here, after being…there, all the time."

"It is at first. But after a time it loses its appeal, it stops being beautiful. You can only see what you can't have, and instead of feeling happy, you feel sad. Not very many here enjoy it."

"Robin would like it," Much commented briefly, his eyes still searching the cavern. Surely there was a way out somehow. He heard her sigh, his own breath catching in his throat as he heard her do so. She was like this whenever he brought up his master. Why, he did not know. He had asked her before, and she had refused to answer, aside from the blatantly obvious fact that she did not like any masters.

He tried, really honestly tried to not mention Robin at all when she was around. It was hard, a task more difficult than mining itself, a slip of the tongue that he could not stop, the words themselves pouring from his mouth before he even thought about what he was saying. Robin was a part of who he was, had been his master, his constant companion for more than ten years. How could he do anything, let alone talk about anything, without bringing someone like that up?

"We should go back."

Her voice was bitter, the cold tone she took when she was angry with him. Much seemed to be good at getting her angry that. It was all he could do to repress a longing sigh, not wanting to leave just yet. The cave was beautiful…as beautiful as a cave could be, he supposed. He had never before held such a high opinion of something so dreadful before, but he supposed that if he was able to choose any cave to live out the remainder of his days in, then it would be this one.

Eleri had already gone ahead, not waiting for him to follow, the light of the torch fading as she slipped in through the small entry way. Much took a final glance around, before turning to follow as well. It would get rather dark in here without the light, and he could remember how horrible it had been to crawl through that tunnel the first time. It would be much more difficult trying to do so without any light. Yet he couldn't help but pause, his eyes catching the smallest shaft of light from above.

When Eleri had been in here with the torch before he hadn't been able to see it. Now that darkness was enveloping him, it was easy to see the faint glow. There was an opening, somewhere far above. There was the smallest bit of hope in him, but it faded just as quickly as the last of the light disappeared. It was probably just his eyes, seeing things he wanted to be there. Even if it were real, if a way out existed way up there, there would be no way he could reach it. As Eleri had pointed out, the walls could not be climbed.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts as he scurried over the opening, squeezing himself back through. Eleri was a good ways ahead, but he could see the dim flicker and followed without question. He would come back here, on his own if he had to.

But he really wouldn't mind if she came with him.

**TBC**


	13. Memory of the Past

**Thanks to Kegel for the beta :)  
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**Chapter 13: Memory of the Past**

There wasn't much they had to offer, but they were generous in doing so. Robin thanked the pair of them; the woman, who he had learned to be Annie, and her husband, Joseph, who had arrived home some time ago. The man had been wary of him at first, uncertain if he cared for a stranger helping his wife, but had warmed upon learning that Robin meant no ill harm. And Robin didn't.

It was the reason why he hadn't given them his real name. Robin was no fool in thinking that the Sheriff of Nottingham had spoken to other sheriffs of the surrounding shires about him, and knew that anyone could turn against him. Yet not only that, but if Vaysey were somehow to learn that villagers of Woodborough had sheltered him, they would all suffer the same ill fate. And so when he was asked, Robin had introduced himself with the first name that entered his mind.

"We have more bread if you'd like, Roy," Annie told him as she came around the table. Robin gave her a smile, but shook his head. There was little already, and he would not eat what was left. The hunger had ebbed away, but was replaced by a strange feeling of rumination. Robin couldn't help but wonder if it was a sin to take on the name of a dead man.

Royston White, a former outlaw and good man, had given his life to save that of his mother's, as well as Robin and the others. The day he had died still burned a painful memory in Robin's mind, despite the fact he had not known the man as well as some of the others had. For John, who had been like a father to Roy, the day must have caused far worse pain, and if John knew what Robin was now doing, surely he would be upset. But John wouldn't know, and nor would anyone else. He would be Royston White until purposes served him differently.

If anyone happened to suspect him, and his intentions, the name alone would provide enough information to prove that he was who he said he was, and yet lead them to a dead end. There were few enough people within Nottinghamshire that had heard of Roy, and his mother, but not enough to know what had taken place. And for Gisborne, and the sheriff, no doubt, enough people had fallen prey to them that Robin doubted either would solely remember the outlaw they had killed so long ago. Anyone who happened to nose around for information would hopefully learn only that the man had disappeared. This would protect not only himself, but others he came in contact with such as the couple he was with now.

Joseph had offered him to stay the night, an offer Robin took gratefully. They shared a meal meant for two, but there were neither complaints nor signs of resentment for his company. While they supped, a light conversation had carried between them, Robin answering all the questions as best as he could without letting anything slip aside from questions of his own.

When asked where we had come from, Robin had replied Nottingham, which was where Roy and his mother had once lived. He spoke of the hard times that had befallen the shire, which in all respects was mostly true. Crops were flourishing there, promising a better harvest that autumn, and trade had been better than in past months, but times were still hard. Robin told of how Mary, Roy's…now his, mother, had left the shire to live with a friend and had passed off his own travel saying he was simply looking for work.

Of course both Annie and Joseph suggested that he should head south to Wilsford, or perhaps even east to Pewsey, which was larger. It made sense; the larger the town, the busier it would be, and the greater the opportunity for work to be found, but this wasn't what Robin wanted to know. He brought into the conversation that he was headed west, perhaps to Witheridge, and wanted to know if they had heard anything.

"I've passed through there," Joseph admitted quietly. "Business can take me that far at times, but I only travel during the good season, which is now until when the trees start to change. The weather turns something awful in the winter, but the folks there seem to be kindly enough. I see no reason why you couldn't settle there, but I can't say much about the work."

Robin nodded, taking the information in before broaching with the next question in his mind. "I'm actually curious in finding a couple of…businessmen," he chose his words carefully, wanting to portray genuine interest and harmless curiosity as opposed to desperate longing. "Their trade takes them throughout most of England from what I hear, and last I heard they were headed that way. I was hoping they might have passed through here; two, perhaps three men, with horses."

"We don't have many comings and goings," Joseph responded, easing back in his chair after finishing his meal. "A small town, out the way of the main travel, it's not often anyone passes through, much less businessmen. I see a lot on the main roads, and I honestly couldn't tell you if I've seen who you are looking for. What is their trade? If I knew that, perhaps I could give you more insight."

Thievery and kidnapping was not something Robin could disclose. Not only would it spike their curiosity, but it could very well land him in the local dungeon with charges of outlawry. He already had enough of that on his head, there was no need to add more. Instead he shrugged his shoulders, pretending to have thought it over.

"I am not certain. It was only enticing talk. I don't care to be stuck in one place, so the thought of travel was welcoming."

He wanted to be bolder, wanted to ask after the men, to mention their names, but it would betray the fact that he knew too much to be a simple peasant looking to start a new life. Secrecy was one of the few advantages he held at the moment, and he could not lose that. So he forced a smile, finished the last of the watered ale that was in his cup, and bid the couple a fair night before heading off.

They had offered him a bed in their loft, a small dip in the wall above the kitchen that was used as storage for the crops after they were harvested until they were ready to go to the market. Earlier, Joseph had brought in some hay, lining the floor above to soften the area, and brought him a handful of blankets and worn pillows, apologizing for the lack of comfort. Robin assured him that he would be well enough, which was more than true. Sleeping here would be far more luxurious than what the previous nights had offered.

As tired as he was, Robin knew that he should bed down for the night, but instead he lit one of the candles that had been provided for him. Once the flame was dancing on the wick he reached into his sack, pulling free the map in order to plan his next day's journey. Witheridge was now two days away, one if he left at first light and continued on through until the following morning. His long days on the road were making him anxious, worry clutching his heart each time he thought of the real reason he was headed this way. If he could only somehow learn something, to know that Much was indeed alright, his concern would ease.

And Much wasn't his only worry. His thoughts would often turn to Marian, wondering how she was fairing, and if the promised wedding had already taken place. He thought of the gang, his men, and prayed that they were heeding his words and staying to the forest like originally planned. If anything were to happen to them, he would never forgive himself. They could have all left after they were outlawed, could have gone to other shires and lived their days out comfortably. Instead they had chosen to stay, supporting him, and in doing so, had taken on the same dangers Robin had acquired. Robin knew that they would be singled out far more than any normal outlaw, simply for associating with him. The thought worried him, but there was another reason why he thought of them when the day faded away and he was left alone in the darkness. He missed their company.

It was a strange thought, to know that he had never been alone for this long in nearly a decade. Much had been his constant companion since they had first met, and silence was a notion Robin was not quite familiar with. And as the days passed by, Robin was beginning to learn all the more of how much he disliked being on his own. Enough so that he was starting to guiltily wish that he had taken Will up on his offer to come along.

Robin shook his head, rolling up the map and sliding it back into his sack. If he was indeed to leave at first light, then sleep would be essential. A puff of breath was enough to extinguish the flame, and he lay down in the darkness, drawing the blankets around him with a content sigh. Another day, he promised himself. He would find Much; Witheridge was only a day away, and it had to hold the answers to the man's disappearance. It just had to.

* * *

The sheriff had asked him where he had been. An unusual request since the man had paid little to no heed of his doings lately. For a moment though, Gisborne had faltered, had been unable to explain where he had been or the reason as to why he was covered in brambles. Curse Hood for playing games; if the man had simply shown himself, then Gisborne wouldn't have had to throw his weapons into the dense foliage, and then he wouldn't have had to clamber over the blasted branches to get it back. It took only a moment for him to snap out of the foolish charade, falling back into character and snapping back a simple, but timid reply that he had gone to Locksley, and his horse had bolted.

There had been the slightest 'ah' of expression from Vaysey, before the man once again chose to ignore him. It had been a close call, too close for his comfort, and Gisborne could swear the man was watching his every move. Gisborne had retired early, complaining of a headache, which was by no means a lie. Even so, he didn't sleep at all, tossing and turning in his bed and finally laying awake with a bitter sigh knowing that nothing would ease his mind until Marian was safely away.

Marian….

He was still angry with Hood. The idea of a rescue had been Gisborne's own, so what reasons did Locksley have to exclude him? He knew relations between them weren't exactly…civil, but that was hardly any excuse to cower in the forest and whisper plans amongst outlaws. Had it been anyone else, Gisborne would have demanded to be informed, would have most likely barged in and joined despite what had been said. But he needed Hood, he needed the outlaws. This, he could not do on his own.

Morning found him in a worse state, bedraggled and worn, eyes drawn as though he had spent the night drinking. Perhaps it was what the sheriff assumed, the sickening smile grinding his nerves ever the more. The sheriff had stood near the open window, watching the crowds below before throwing his hands out and exclaiming on the beauty of the day.

The beauty…Gisborne felt revolted, even the more so when the sheriff began to talk about wedding arrangements. At first he had hoped the man was exclaiming with sick humor, but the more the man elaborated on the subject, the more Gisborne realized that the sheriff was indeed serious about the entire matter.

"If you marry her tonight, you'll have enough time for all that lovey-dovey stuff, or even a couple, depending on how long it takes you," Vaysey smirked at him, waving a hand. Guy bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything. If Hood was as prompt as he often was, Marian would be long gone by the time the day came to an end. Unless, of course, the outlaw decided to barge in at the last moment, and be the hero as he rescued the damsel in distress. For everyone's sake, Gisborne hoped the man would not be in that sort of impudent mood. Locksley may enjoy the thrill of a last minute save, but it would be more than Gisborne alone could bear to witness.

He pulled away, clearing his throat before the sheriff had another chance to go on, muttering something about needing fresh air. Gisborne didn't need to turn in order to see that the man was grinning, focused instead on only getting out of there. If he stayed much longer, he feared that somehow he would betray his true intentions. The sheriff would have a noose around his neck if the man ever found out what he had done, and was about to do.

He left the castle behind, but the streets of Nottingham hardly offered any form of comfort. The streets were busy with both work and trade, and those who recognized Gisborne for who he was, cleared out of his way. The rest, however, paid him no heed, forcing him to shove and shoulder people aside as he went on his way.

The inn brought him some comfort. Here he could sit in solitude, and drown his worries in cheap mead and watered ale. He was in a sad state, he knew. Gisborne longed to see Marian, to know that she was well, to give her some hope that all would work out in the end. But the sheriff would not let him near, and even if he had been able to, Gisborne would have not said anything in simple fear that the jailer or another guard would overhear, and scamper off to relay the message to the sheriff.

No, it was better this way. When she was safe, he could send for her. They might even be able to marry still; on how that would work he wasn't entirely certain, but his mind had not stretched that far, instead encumbered by more pressing matters. He took another mouthful of ale, wondering about Locksley just then.

It was nearly midday, and Gisborne could imagine that the man was already here. Perhaps scouting out how he would work his so called _magic_ and figure out the best time to move in. He should be a part of it, too; it was his idea after all, and if he stayed here, then Hood would surely take all the credit for the rescue. The thought angered him, Gisborne slamming the goblet down on the table, drawing the attention from several other patrons. He glared at them, his upper lip curling into a sneer until they all turned away, minding their own business.

Hood would never let him come. The man was too much of a hero, and would want to do everything himself. He was also a coward, though the man denied it, passing it off instead by saying he did not trust. Trust; what did that have to do with anything? Gisborne had learned long ago that trust served no purpose. If you had wanted something done, then you needed to do it yourself. Placing trust in others was much like accepting failure before anything had even happened.

Gisborne took the last of his ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It was settled then. He would follow Robin, and if the man protested, all Gisborne had to do was make a scene. The outlaw would not risk being discovered, even more so when Marian was at risk. The thought seemed perfect to him. Alongside Hood he could help see Marian to safety, and if things did happen to go ill, he could simply hand the outlaws over. The sheriff would surely be pleased by his efforts, and in exchange, allow Marian her freedom.

The plan was infallible, but he had to act quickly. There was no telling where the outlaws were now, Nottingham being large enough to provide more than adequate cover. But they were here somewhere, he reckoned, and the sooner he found them, the sooner they could save Marian.

* * *

He had remembered a conversation he and Eleri had held some time ago. Of course he had always been curious about the warning that had first been given to him by Dax upon his arrival, but it had never occurred to him to directly question the man on what he had meant. It had taken a few days, and some mustered courage, to finally ask Eleri what exactly it was that happened to those that were…uncooperative.

The fire he had seen behind her eyes dimmed, and it was as though she was lost somewhere in thought at the question, and that maybe she wasn't going to answer it at all. Part of him had regretted asking, and he apologized before turning away. Yet she had answered; her voice quiet and barely audible over the crackling of the fire. Somehow that made it all the more eerie.

'_They're taken above.'_

It had confused him. Surely that was a good thing, not a bad thing. Much couldn't imagine anything worse than this place. She must have seen his expression, for she had explained herself further.

'_There is a pit underneath the manor, darker than it is here, with walls made of stone, and shackles imbedded into them. A sort of dungeon without any bars you might say. That is where you are taken, bound and gagged, with a hood over your head so that you cannot see or hear. They leave you there for days sometimes, without food or water, restrained so that you cannot even chase away the rats the come to gnaw on your flesh. A beating, you think, would be worse, but tangible hurts can heal. The isolation can drive you mad on the inside, it can turn your mind.'_

She had tapped the side of her head with a finger to indicate what she meant. Much could understand easily enough, for he and Robin had seen some of the same in the crusades. Men had gone mad from the horrors of war, and even Much could see Robin battling the invisible demons from time to time. More than once he had heard his master cry out during the night, shifting in sleep before jerking awake abruptly. Much knew that he was the only one who understood why Robin did not sleep some nights.

While the trials of war were far different from what Eleri had just described, Much could imagine it was relatively the same. He had let the subject drop, doing his best to work hard and show Garner that he was a good worker because in all honesty, he did not want to end up in the deep, dark pit Eleri had described.

That morning, when he first woke, this was the conversation he remembered. The night had grown colder than most, and he felt a strange, almost funny feeling inside of him that he could not really describe. Of course he had been sick before, where his breath rattled in his chest, and times where he had been forced to breathe through his mouth because he could not do so from his nose. But this was different…different from what he had ever felt before.

He tried to ignore it, forcing himself to his feet and to pull on the heavy garments. There was a dizzying sensation in his head, throwing off his balance and he had to stay where he was for a time in order to keep upright. Much would have given anything to lay back down, to fall back asleep and wake when he was feeling better, but the words of the conversation held so long ago was the only present in his mind. He did not want to go to that place; he did not want to be alone, and he didn't like rats….he wanted nothing to do with the rats.

"John, fetch Garner," Eleri called to someone that was behind him, another one of the workers. "We have another one."

Much wasn't sure what she was talking about, but he could feel her pushing him down so that he was sitting. He shook his head, trying to explain that he was alright, but she wouldn't listen. The heavy cloth he had wrapped around his head was removed, and Much breathed a sigh of relief. It was easier to breathe this way, but he needed the cloth for the mines.

"You won't be working today," she told him, a hand pressed against his forehead.

"We all have to work," he muttered, his mind racing again with images of rats scurrying just below his feet. "I have to work."

"Miner's fever," she pulled back, patting the bedroll, "lie down."

It wasn't time to rest, but the look in her eye was similar to the one he often saw in Robin when the man warned him to not argue with what was said. Slowly he did what she had told him to, feeling guilty that he was doing due to the fact that the other workers were already moving out. They would be late if they stayed here, and Much wondered how long it would be until Garner whisked the pair of them off to the pits.

"You'll need to rest, and stay warm," she told him once the others had cleared out. "Everyone here ends up with the fever sooner or later, even the guards. Most of the time it is harmless, given proper care."

Fever? Yes, she had said something about fever, but he had directly thought that was what it was. But something else bothered him, too. "Most of the time? What happens the rest of the time?"

He could see her shrug, could imagine that she was grinning a little too, despite the fact he couldn't directly see her face. "Well…if you don't get better you die. But you won't have to worry about that. No one in Garner's lot has died for years. I'm actually surprised you lasted so long. Most new workers are sick within the first week; you held out far longer than that."

She said nothing more to him, her demeanor changing as Garner came into the cave, muttered curses floating through the air. Much could feel his chest tighten, his heart speeding up a little, wondering what he had done wrong. When he had first become outlawed with the others, it was fairly common for one, or even all of them, to be sick from time to time. Robin had been agitated at the times Much sneezed or coughed on him, but there had been concern, too. With Garner…it almost seemed as though the man was…cross with him.

"Keep him away from the others," the man snorted after eyeing him for a moment. "I won't stand for my entire lot being out. The boys will get what you need, and do not take me for a fool. You know what will happen if you do."

"Yes, sir."

_Sir _was the closest she had ever come to addressing Garner as one of her masters. While Much, and the others muttered the phrase without thought, Eleri had always gritted her teeth, refusing to give the man satisfaction. Part of Much wondered why Garner never did anything about it; he had seen before how defiance was sometimes handled, and it was not through avoidance.

Eleri had told him some time later that to the guards it was a minor triviality. As long as she performed what was requested of her, she was allowed to address them however she wished as long as it was not disrespectful. But this latest exchange spiked curiosity in him, and despite how he felt he couldn't help but wonder.

"What did he mean by that?"

He only asked the question after Garner had left. Much did not have the nerve like Eleri did to speak of the man while he was still around. It surprised him how often Eleri spoke gruffly of the guard when he was within earshot. When Much had brought up the possibility of her being backhanded, she had simply smiled and replied, _'He wouldn't dare.'_

Much had always wanted to know what she meant by that, but had been too nervous to ask. Some things, he knew, were better just left alone. This, however, was one thing he did want to know.

"I've always been good with medicine," she confessed. "My husband used to be a physician; he taught me some of what he knew. I know which plants heal, and what ones harm. Garner had me care for his workers when he found out what I could do. It was then I figured I could use it to my own advantage. I drugged some of the guards up front, and slipped out of the cave."

"You escaped?"

It was surprising; Eleri had already told him once she never had managed to do so. Of course, he should have figured something happened. She wouldn't have come back here on her own.

"The cave, yes. The mines…I ended up lost. I couldn't remember the way; I had been down here for so long. I was caught after a time, forced into seclusion for nearly a week."

His mind was racing amongst the unsettling thoughts at her words. "You can do it again, can't you? I mean…you drugged them once-"

"No," she shook her head. "It was a good plan, but it won't work a second time. They know what herbs I need, and won't bring anything else. Even if I could get them, it would only be enough for one or two of the guards, and we have an entire mine filled with them."

"Robin would try again," he muttered quietly. And he would; Robin could find a solution even when there was none, and it was Much who was trying to make his master see some sense in what was being said. Now he was the one reaching for something that was not there.

"Of course he would," she muttered dryly, tending to the fire. They had been brought more wood, along with a pouch of plants and herbs, and a bucket of water. She worked methodically, much like the times he had seen Djaq do, but now with a sour expression on her face. "He's probably never risked anything of real value. That comes with position, the ability to rid yourself of things you don't want."

"Why do you hate him?" Much couldn't help but wonder. She had been nothing but bitter, and the angry mood was starting to grind on his nerves, even more so with how he already felt. "You don't even know him."

"I know enough of masters," she told him quietly after a pause. "Enough to know better. If you've only had one master, then you might think differently. But they are all the same."

"And what have they done to you?"

It was a genuine question, driven more by curiosity rather than bitter resentment. Still, the look on her face, on how it had hardened and her lips drawing tight told him that he had just asked a question he probably should not have. There was a twinge of regret in him, Much wanting to take back what he had just said. He fumbled with his words, but she shook her head, speaking before he could.

"It is better if some things are not spoken of," her voice was quiet, barely audible, but Much could understand that it was something that was not going to be discussed. It only served to spike his curiosity all the more. It was only then he began to wonder if Eleri's resentment towards the way he spoke of Robin came from something more tangible than what they were faced with now. But even if that was true, she didn't have any right to be angry with a man who she had never even met…did she?

"You need to rest now, I'll be here if you need anything," she interrupted his thoughts, her voice more normal now than it had been only moments ago. He knew that she was right. He was tired despite having slept most of the night, and his stomach still felt strange, but not in the same way as if he was hungry. In fact, even the simplest thought of food made him feel slightly ill.

With a sigh he closed his eyes, his mind afire with so many thoughts he could not even sort them out. He told himself, that hopefully, if he could only sleep, that maybe things would be better when he woke.

**TBC**


	14. Capture

**Longer chapter this time, but it was a lot of fun to write. Hope you enjoy it just as much! Thanks to Kegel as always for the beta!**

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**Chapter 14: Capture**

Marian was a kind woman. A noble woman. She had been doing good for many more years than he, masked as the Nightwatchman to keep herself safe from the sheriff. John had heard of the mysterious figure once or twice before Robin came to the forest, but not often. Living as a dead man had its disadvantages, and he often had missed out on what was going on in the shire.

When John had first discovered who the Nightwatchman was, he had been perplexed. Perhaps even more than Robin. Of course, he was only a simple man, unlike Robin who had once been a lord. Robin, he knew, had grown up with Marian, had, at one time, even been betrothed to her. Learning she could fight, and hold her own ground, surely hadn't been much of a surprise for him.

Robin's stance on it was particularly confusing. One moment he had been criticizing her for not doing more, and the next moment, berating her for her actions. John could well remember the night the man had carried her back to the cave. On how they all had worked to save her, and how they had managed to just barely fight off the ambush that had been led their way. He could also well remember the day after the failed wedding. The look in Robin's eyes as Marian led her father away, leaving Nottingham behind. He knew what the man had felt.

John had felt the same when he had watched his family leave. His son and wife, the two people he loved most in the world. There was not a day that went by without him berating himself for his foolish decisions. He had hid in the forest, leaving his wife to suffer alone, having gone hungry most nights so that their own child could eat the few measly scraps that was available. And all the while, John had fed his hungry mouth with venison and conies, obtaining even fresher meat when he sent another thief into the towns with a bit of gold taken off unsuspecting men. If he could change things now, then God knew that he would.

While he might not be able to do that for himself, John knew that they could for Marian. For Robin as well, he knew. Robin had saved his family in their time of need, and now, they would do the same for Marian. There was no argument there, and as John thought it over, he realized that there never really had been.

When he had been nothing more than a petty thief, living amongst the woods, John would have not even thought of going into the villages, much less Nottingham itself. He was unlike most men, built with a girth that was both a blessing and a curse. While his size gave him advantage in most situations, it also signaled him out, and there was hardly a soul that forgot who he was. So sneaking into villages had never been the first thing on his lists. Now, it was second nature.

It had been agreed for all of them to go in separate ways. John had watched as Allan staggered in, a coarse cloak covering his frame as he limped past the guards. No one ventured near him, giving him a wide berth instead, as though afraid they might catch whatever the man possessed. It was clever, he had to admit. But John needed no such antics. He simply walked in.

Now he waited, along with Allan, where they had deemed to meet up once inside. It would take the others time, he knew, before they showed. John knew that they possibly were all inside, mingling with the townsfolk in hopes of learning anything, giving enough time to let everyone gather. John was not one to waste any time, preferring on acting now rather than later. He wasn't impatient, rather he saw no point in putting off today what could be done tomorrow.

"There's Will," Allan called to him, nodding off in one direction. John followed his gaze, spying the younger man moving through the crowds. Djaq was not too far behind him, and it wasn't hard for John to figure the two had stayed together while entering Nottingham.

While Robin had left both him and Will to take care of things, John did not mind giving way to Will. After all, it was not the first time he had followed the man's charge. Though things had not gone particularly well, he was still confident in Will, just as he was confident in Robin despite the times the man had led them astray, or had nearly turned against them.

"She's here alright," Will whispered as he drew near. His face was barely distinguishable beneath the hood, even harder to see now that they were in the shadows, but his voice was audible enough.

"Two guards," Djaq added as she too drew into the shadows underneath the aging awning. "I heard them speaking of it. The hanging will happen in the morning. If we wait, we can escape into the crowds. People will help her if we free her."

They might. John was not one to get into an argument about whether or not that was true. Marian was known to many, and if people knew that she had been helping Robin all along, the chances were fair enough. Yet he did not like waiting. But Allan beat him to that thought.

"If we can free her. And we don't know for sure; the sheriff might have men, guards, in the crowd, and what then? That's even if the sheriff has a public hanging."

The sheriff. How he hated the sheriff. He had never been fond of the man, but the sheer hatred had grown many times over when the man had involved himself in John's family. Had the sheriff not openly attacked his wife and son, they would still be in Locksley. He would still be able to see his son, and watch him grow; to see the look on his face with each basket of food, or purse of coins on their doorway. Now that could be no longer. But at least he was safe.

"Allan's right," Will agreed with the other, turning back to Djaq. "The sheriff will move fast if given the chance. We can't give him that chance. We need to free her tonight."

"How?" Allan mused. "What, do we walk up to the sheriff and say 'not being funny, but you're mistaken 'bout Marian? She can't be the Nightwatchman. Would you be so kind as to let her go?'"

There were several glares his way, but the man hardly seemed to notice. Allan was good with that, able to let whatever insult roll right off of him. John gripped his staff tighter, leaning on it as he shifted his weight.

"We go up from below," he suggested. More of a demand, as his voice was set hard. They had talked about this before and it had been the only idea they had routinely agreed on. Was it risky? Yes, but then again all of their missions were.

"Below what?"

They all turned at the new voice, though they didn't need to see the person to know who he was. Guy of Gisborne had a voice that could send a chill down any man's spine, and seize his stomach into a million knots. John felt the rage shortly after. So it had been a trap.

Hands gripped the staff at even ends, pulling the bit of wood back and preparing to strike. It was an effective weapon in most cases, deadly in some if the aim was just right. And John was preparing to aim precisely. But he was stopped by a hand on his arm, Will moving in front of him and forcing to hold back the blow. It was then he could see that Gisborne was alone, hands spread to show that he was unarmed. What sort of trickery was this?

"Go ahead, strike me down," Gisborne provoked them all, not even moving from where he stood. "Last I hear you lot still don't kill. There's always time to change that reputation, prove yourselves real men."

"What do you want?" Will demanded, taking charge as he had done before. John was grateful for that. What he had in mind to say had not been as civil.

"I am coming with you to free Marian."

"No."

John had not been the only one to say so at the same time. This was what they had been trying to avoid before.

"That was not part of the plan," Will took the time to elaborate.

"There is a new plan. Either I come with, or I alert my guards that there are outlaws in Nottingham that are planning to break prisoners free. How far do you think you will get, with every exit barred and all the towns people more than eager to point you out once they find that they too are confined in the town until all the criminals are caught?"

He hated Gisborne. As much as he did the sheriff, and the man was now starting to show where his true tastes lay. John could see Will hesitate, taking in this new information. He could only wonder as to what the young man was thinking, but more so what Robin would do if he had been here. It seemed then that Gisborne noticed that they were a few short. Perhaps he only noticed the absence of one member. Of Robin.

"Where is Hood?"

His voice was low, deadly, a little more than a whisper. It was a tone of voice that demanded an answer, and nothing but that. But as outlaws they were not intimidated by it. Facing Gisborne, the sheriff, on more than one basis, had allowed them to grow accustomed to such things. And as proof, none of them spoke, or even flinched.

"Tell me that he is here," Gisborne demanded again.

"If you're coming, you'll need to keep up. And stay quiet," Will responded, turning away. He started to address the others, but didn't manage to get very far.

"He…isn't here."

John could see the man grow angry, a trait the Master-at-Arms seemed to have learned very well. The man let out a fierce growl.

"I always knew he was a pathetic coward, but even I didn't think he could sink this low," he breathed. "To allow a woman to walk to the gallows for a crime she had not committed." There was a snort, the man shaking his head as he tried to gather his words, each one laced with venom. "I thought your ringleader was always about saving the poor, pathetic innocents. Instead he's nowhere in sight, and he's left me with an incompetent troop of filthy outlaws as some sorry parting gift."

_Incompetent? Filthy? Who did this man think he was dealing with? _It angered John. Here they were risking their lives, to do a favor that was asked of them, and the man could think of nothing else but to degrade them. Of course, John knew they would rescue Marian with or without Gisborne's request, but that was hardly the point.

"Then you rescue her," Will stated pointedly. "Or let us incompetent, filthy outlaws, who, as I remember, have managed to escape and elude every trap set by you and your men, help you."

John gripped his staff all that much tighter. He did not like, nor did he appreciate the fact that Will was bargaining with this man. They were enemies. They did not barter, they did not deal. This, he did not like.

"Very well," Gisborne said after a moment, the words muttered like some angry child who had failed to get his own way. John was angry still, but felt a hair better knowing that Gisborne realized he needed their help.

"What is the plan? If you even have one."

Will looked back at John for the first time since Gisborne had arrived, as if seeking out some sort of permission. John held his gaze firmly, trying to convey the fact that this had never been a part of the plan, and that it was ill luck to try and start changing now. Gisborne, in his mind, could not be trusted, no matter what the goal was. But Will would not hear any of it, and the others had said nothing either, keeping their tongues and allowing Will to choose what would be done. That was the price of leadership, he guessed.

"From below?"

John was silent, but nodded. Yes. That was the plan, but he did not voice it. Couldn't voice it without growing angry. How were they supposed to do anything with Gisborne along? The man would learn all of their secrets, and John knew that a trap was still possible. This was a bad idea indeed, but did they have any other choice? Gisborne had given his ultimatum, of what would happen if they refused. Not only would they be on the run, but Marian would still have to face her fate with no hope of rescue.

"Below?" Gisborne asked, his face growing stern. "Below what?"

* * *

Things had taken a turn for the worse. Somehow Robin had been able to convince himself that once he reached Witheridge, things would turn out alright. That someone there could give him the much sought after information he needed. Or that Much might even be there. But there was no such luck.

However, Joseph had been correct; the people there were kind. He was accepted warmly, the town apparently accustomed to travelers, and willing to help out where they could. But it was useless; none of the villagers had seen or heard of the men Robin described, and even when he was bold enough to say their names outright the only thing he received in return was blank stares. Robin felt utterly hopeless.

He could no longer remember how many days he had been on the road. It felt like forever ago since he had last been in Sherwood. Raw desire to find his friend had been the only thing that kept him going, and now he could feel that burn start to wilt away. He was no closer to finding Much now than he had been all those days ago. And now, with each passing day, Robin began to fear that he was simply too late.

Witheridge had been his home for near a week, the outlaw unsure of what his next move would be. Robin knew that he could not stay here forever; eventually he would have to leave, either to set off in a new direction or to head home empty-handed. The prospect of doing so was not a very welcome one. It felt too much like failure, and Robin did not like to admit defeat to any challenge, least of all one that was so important. Much _was _out there somewhere; Robin just didn't know where.

He had given up on listening in on the townspeople. A small room in the local inn had been his for a few shillings and some bartered goods, providing a sort of sanctuary. Robin spent his days secluded, locked away in room and wracking his brain to try and provoke some sort of memory. It was difficult.

A time, not too long ago, he had suffered a rather unwelcome injury. At the time he couldn't recall anything, not even his own name. Frightened, confused, and unaware of what he was even doing, he had somehow become entangled within the sheriff's web of lies, and had nearly done some unspeakable horrors. Though that time was past, and Robin could now recall most of what had happened, he had noticed a peculiar trait that bothered him quite greatly.

Normally he could remember things with great detail; the slightest of movements, the smallest of uttered phrases. He could see them all play out in his mind, as though they were taking place in front of him at that very moment. But lately, when he was stressed, as he certainly was now, the details muddled into one another, sometimes slipping away altogether. This was the persistent problem that accompanied him now.

He had been so certain about Witheridge that he had disregarded any other possibility. The thoughts that flooded his mind now taunted him, casting worry and doubt and befuddling him all the more. What if he had gone the wrong way? What if Thomas had misheard what the men had said, or what was even more logical, what if the men had spouted nothing but lies?

What was it Thomas had said? They had needed to go south? Robin pursed his lips, trying to recall the memory. It came, after a time only, but he was almost certain. They had gone south. But Robin had assumed they had gone west as well, since that was where Witheridge was, the gateway that was mentioned before. But that had only been an assumption, and perhaps an irrational one driven by worry and fear rather than logical conclusion.

He had studied the map so many times by now that Robin was certain the image was burned into his memory. Still, he couldn't resist pulling it out once again. Nothing he had found in the last few days had given even the slightest of indications of matching a similar description. After searching the local areas, he had studied the southern part of the map, the east, and even the north when he had become desperate enough. He couldn't be that far off; it would mean weeks, if not months, of travel, putting him even further behind. Wherever Much was, whatever had happened to him, Robin had a foreboding feeling that the man could not hold out for that long.

Robin cursed himself inwardly. If only he had been there that day, if only he had paid more attention to what was going on around him instead of brooding like a child over something he could not change. Had he really been that flustered over Marian's engagement that he had failed to take notice on Much's absence?

He bit his lip. He had noticed; but at the same time he had hardly done anything about it. Had he been more persistent, perhaps he would have crossed paths with them, and none of this mess would be taking place as it was. It was an unnerving feeling, the knowledge that he had failed Much in his friend's time of need. But that was then, and he could not change the past. It was the future he could change, to find Much, and to bring him home. But to do that, he first needed to find the man. A nearly impossible task.

He closed his eyes, trying to recall that day again. Trying to remember what all had been said. There had been talk about a forest; Robin could remember that well enough, simply because it made little sense. He had assumed for a time that Thomas had been wrong in saying what he had, about a forest being sheer like Sherwood was. Now he was wondering if a forest was indeed the key to finding Much.

There were several that were not too far from Witheridge. He could reach the closest in just a few hours, but then the woods stretched on for days. It would be as complex and confusing as Sherwood, and Robin feared unless he had a set direction, he would only become lost and his entire search would gain him nothing. What possible reason would they even have in taking Much that far?

It was with a guilty conscience that he wished it had happened to someone else. A brief and bitter scowl that vanished almost moments after as Robin realized that he would not wish this on anyone else, let alone a child. Much had done the right thing in saving Thomas, the same thing that Robin, or any of his other men, would have done. Robin let out a sigh, turning his attention back to the map, determined to find some sort of direction.

It was then he saw it. The memory flared, bringing back the same words that Thomas had said before. Robin dared to hope, but kept calm all the same as his fingers came to rest on the parchment. It wasn't a forest that the men had told Thomas about…but a town. Sherwell.

It made sense, more sense than trying to compare one forest to another. Robin realized then that what had been said was nothing more than a cruel joke, but he was grateful for it all the same. If he was right in his speculation, then he could reach the town in a little over a day. And if Much was there, like he assumed, he would find him.

For the first time in days, Robin felt himself smiling.

* * *

It was always infuriating the way Hood and his outlaws managed to escape their traps, why and even how they were able to parade around the castle without crossing paths with a single guard. Gisborne was one to admit that he had always been curious how they managed it. Now he was starting to regret that curiosity.

The smell alone was horrendous. Why any living creature, man or beast alike, would subject themselves to this willingly was beyond him. When he had first seen what they had intended to do, Gisborne had argued fervidly against it. There has to be another way than this simple-minded plan. But the outlaws had flashed him a grin, had goaded him, making snide comments about how cowardly he truly was. At the remark, Gisborne had pushed past them all, leading the expedition and sloshing through the murky, putrid water.

He had fallen back during the course of the walk. Though they were below the castle now, Gisborne hadn't the faintest clue as to where. He wouldn't admit it, of course, allowing the others to think he was merely struggling along in the thigh-deep sludge. That was partially true anyway.

More than once he had almost fallen, stumbling through and almost falling to his knees. The filth covered not only his leggings, but parts of his tunic and his leather gloves. There was nothing to grab hold of if he did fall, so Gisborne had taken to a shorter, more cautious stride, almost peeved by the simple fact that the outlaws were moving twice as fast as he was with no difficulty at all. Yet of course they would.

They had allowed themselves to succumb to a life like this, where waltzing through sewers was the highlight of their days. They probably rolled in this stuff as well, more like beasts than any real humans. They spent their days living in the forest, feasting on whatever pitiful animal they caught and drinking rainwater. You couldn't expect a lot out of them. But it was worth it, he decided. They were going to free Marian.

The thought slowed him and he came to a stop. At least he assumed they would free her. What if these wretched outlaws were leading him astray, enjoying the fact they had made him, a man in service to the sheriff, the present Lord of Locksley, crawl through the castle sewers? His expression darkened.

Hood was here. This was nothing more than a distraction. He had been led astray. The white hot fury grew inside of him, and he started forward to show them that he was no fool. And then he tripped. Down he went, hands out, grasping open air as he fell.

If he had thought the smell was bad before, it was nothing in comparison to the taste. Gisborne spat heavily, gagging on the stench, but more so the taste as he picked himself up hurriedly. There was nothing to clean himself with, now that he was covered in a layer of muck so thick it was dripping off him like mud.

A cloth was pressed in his hands, a set of fingers digging into his wrist as they pulled him along. He stumbled behind, half-blind as he wiped the stench from his face, spitting the rest out as the laughter rung in his ears. Gisborne would not be the source of amusement for long, but he couldn't even stammer a reply, the stench alone causing him to gag as he tried to speak.

It was the woman who had him, but she let go of his wrist when they caught up with the others. They were no longer moving ahead, congregated instead in a corner, mirth in their voices as they discussed the next part of their plan. Gisborne used what little was left of the clean cloth to wipe the rest of his face, before tossing it aside, humiliated by the fact he had been helped by an outlaw, but more so by the fact that it had been a woman.

The giant of a man was called, the others standing back to give him room. There was a length of rope that was tied to his quart-staff, before it was turned and then thrust into the air. A second later there was a warning, and everyone cleared out of the way as it came hurtling back down, splashing into murky water. The man merely dug it out as though it had landed in clear spring water, shaking the excess off, and trying again.

Gisborne hadn't the slightest idea as to what they were doing. If this was a distraction, it was quite elaborate, but he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to it. Glancing up he could see the faintest light, and with sudden, almost sickening realization, he knew where they were. Under one of the castle's many privies.

True, he should have recognized it long ago, seeing where they were already. But it hadn't been a thought on Gisborne's mind and he particularly didn't want to ponder it. Instead he stood quietly, watching as the staff was thrown up another time, and a muffled clunk echoing throughout the chamber as it caught hold. There was a few tugs given to ensure its hold, then a nod to confirm it. A bulky hand was pointed at him next.

"He goes first."

"No," Gisborne said quickly. He would not venture up there, to find out the others had left him. He would not be led astray. He would take a captive, so to speak, a sort of insurance the others would follow. They would never leave one of their own to his mercy. "I am not the fool you think I am."

At first it seemed there might be an argument, but one of the other outlaws pushed past him…was it Allan? Yes…he recognized him; the man had caused enough grief in the past. Gisborne sneered as the man grabbed the rope, hauling himself up. He waited until the man was halfway up before starting his own climb.

It was not as easy as Allan made it look. The rope was slippery, due to the countless of times it had fallen into the sewage, making it even harder to properly grip. Allan in the meantime had reached the top, pulling himself through the open hole and disappearing into the castle. A moment later there was a quiet shout that everything was clear, and Gisborne could feel another outlaw start to climb below him.

By the time he reached the top, he was out of breath. He was a fit man, but even so he was not accustomed to sloshing about thick sewage, and climbing ropes. He rode on horsebacks, and had his guards do any dirty work for him. It was quite a change, and Gisborne forced the fatigue from his face and slowed his breaths at the merest glance from the other outlaws.

It took only a handful of minutes for the others to join them. They now stood, all together, in a room that was meant for, at the most, a couple of souls. These close quarters were not to his liking, and Gisborne pushed forward, ready to open the door and get out of there. The others stopped him, without as much as a word. One of them took charge again, stepping in front of Gisborne and pushing open the door slowly. As the one man hung his head out of the open door, the other, the giant, preoccupied himself with rolling up the long bit of soiled rope, and slinging it over his shoulder once more.

"To the left, down one level," the man said quickly as he pulled his head back down. "John, we need you in front, you know what to do. As soon as you see them. We'll follow shortly."

The giant nodded, pushing past them all and disappearing into the corridors. What kind of speech was that? Not even an order? How could they get anything done this way? Gisborne was clearly befuddled. If he had given that kind of command to one of his guards, he would have gotten blank stares in return. But here, everyone was already moving, as though a detailed plan had been worked over and rehearsed numerous times. Gisborne shook off the speculation, following as the last of the group disappeared.

It was strange, being back in the castle like this. Of course the castle was much his home as Locksley was, but now he was sneaking about it, dodging into shadows and ducking behind corridors. More than once he was brought to a halt by one of the outlaws, forced back against the wall and kept silent. It would be only moments later that a routine guard would saunter by, singing some idiotic tune. Morons, the lot of them. No wonder Hood was able to move about the castle with such ease. All their guards were useless.

Gisborne heard the sound then, a mixture of cries and metal clattering to the ground. He rounded the corner then, just in time to see the group spring on the men and drag them to one side. The giant stood proudly, quart-staff in his hand and a grin on his face that could be seen even in the dim light. He was apparently impressed by his sudden maneuvers. While it was good, they were still stuck on this side of the dungeon door, and no key to get in. Apparently they hadn't thought that one through.

But what was more surprising was happening right now. One of the outlaws had moved forward, had pulled a small axe from his belt, a bit of metal. Instead of going for the lock, as most thieves would, he focused instead on the hinges. The metal was placed into a notch above the hinge, and using the blunt side of his axe he drove it in with a fierce whack. Another, and then another, and suddenly the hinge sprung free. Gisborne was flustered.

He and the sheriff had blamed rats for the destruction of the wooden door time and time again. While it was the fault of rats, it wasn't in the sense they were thinking of. Instead it was the outlaw vermin causing the damage. He felt himself grin shortly after. That would be one thing that would have to change once all of this was through. True, it was working in his favor now, but after Marian was free Gisborne would have no need to break into the dungeons again, and now, he knew how to keep Hood out.

Quick work was made out of the second hinge, and the door swung open backwards and the outlaws led the way. Gisborne was quick to follow, pushing out in front as they neared the bottom. The jailer had the briefest moment of surprise on his face before he was knocked out, and the keys collected shortly after. And there she was. A vision of beauty.

The time in the dungeons had not been enough to soil her appearance. A simple dress that was marked with smudges and hair that was a bit ruffled only served to make her all the more beautiful. And the look on her face, the confusion, surprise…hope. Fingers were wrapped around the bars, her eyes searching the odd group as they came forward. Gisborne grabbed the bars, a smile on his own face as he knew he had upheld his own bargain.

"I don't understand," she breathed quietly, eyes moving from him to the others.

"They won't harm you," Gisborne reassured her, taking her hand. "They are my hired men at the moment. They are working for me." He wondered briefly if they were to go the same way they had come in. Surely not, as the sewers were no place for a woman. But he didn't have the time to think that one over.

"Really, Gisborne. I expected many things of you, but this, must I say, was truly a surprise."

He turned, pulling away from the bars as the other outlaws pulled free their weapons. Gisborne momentarily reached for his own, cursing as he realized he had none. He had given them all up in order to convince the outlaws to allow him to come along.

"Milord," he said testily, reverting to his backup plan. "I have captured Hood's outlaws. You can have them in exchange for Lady Marian's freedom."

He said it with a bit of pride, of having done what the sheriff had tried and failed to do so many times. True, he hadn't really caught them, but they were surrounded, a wall of guards, and nowhere to go. That was close enough. But the sheriff shook his head, letting out a 'tut' in disproval.

"Gisborne, Gisborne," he sighed. "Why would I bargain when I already have them all?"

"You wouldn't have them if it wasn't for me," he argued, edging away from the outlaws and mingling with the guards that were working their way down. Seeing their glares, he figured the further away he was from them, the better. "I led them here."

"If I'm not mistaken, it was you who said that you hired them. Hiring outlaws…and consorting with them…makes you an outlaw, too."

"No, milord," Gisborne shook his head. This wasn't going as he had planned.

"Lock them all up. Looks like the leper will have company come tomorrow morning. I wonder if we have enough rope." He moved, pausing as he turned back around as the guards moved in. "Oh, and don't bother wasting cells. Put them all in together. Friends till the end I say, wouldn't that be amusing. But let's be gentlemen about it, shall we? Girls in one…boys in the other."

The sheriff waved his hand one more time before continuing his previous journey up the stairs. There was an outburst of commotion, all the outlaws fighting, Gisborne resorting to fists as he fought against the very men he had once commanded. But it didn't last long. There were far too outnumbered, in a room that was hardly big enough to move.

The door slammed shut no sooner than he was thrown inside. Quickly he got to his feet, spinning around and grabbing the bars, spitting out curses as the same was done to Marian's cell once more. The guards hardly paid him any heed; the few that did merely laughed at him before heading back up, leaving them alone.

But he wasn't alone. The sudden realization coming then as the sinking feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. Gisborne turned around quickly, back pressed against the bars as he came face to face with a group of very angry outlaws.

**TBC**


	15. Master At Arms

**Love all the responses, they really make my day :). Thanks to Kegel for the beta and her help. Read away!**

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**Chapter 15: Master-At-Arms**

It was only high noon, but the Sheriff of Nottingham found himself already taking his third cup of wine. And why not, he reasoned? After all there was a glorious event to be celebrated. Not only did he have the leper in his grasps, but Hood's pretty little gang as well. Of course it wasn't all that grand, seeing that Huntington himself was still free of the gilded cage, but Vaysey was quite certain that wouldn't last for much longer. The outlaw wouldn't be able to stay away once learning what had happened to all of his poor petty comrades. And when it was only him, with no one to help, and too many to save, it could only end in Vaysey's favor. He liked those odds.

Then there was Gisborne. Sweet, naïve Gisborne, hoping to do a favor to impress the lady and therefore earn her undying trust. Exactly what favor that was, Vaysey wasn't sure. She hadn't married the man the first time, so why should she the second time? Even if he had managed to set her free, she wouldn't have stayed. Good riddance, it would have been; then she would be one less problem he had to deal with. But oh the joy, of how much fun it had been to torment the man with her predicament. Entertainment was hard to come by anymore, expensive as it was.

He would have kept track of Gisborne himself had he not had other matters to attend to, but he had sent the captain of his guards to follow quietly. The reports the man had brought him had enthralled him. Gisborne, he knew, was desperate to save Marian, but he had never expected his Master-at-Arms to bargain with the outlaws. Yet, as unexpected as it was, it also solved a particular problem of his that he had been brewing over the past days.

He looked up, a bit gleeful as the door to his chambers swung open, the announcement he had been waiting for moving him to his feet. How delightful, the way certain things worked out. The newest member of the castle had arrived shortly after Gisborne had made a fool of himself. It confirmed that he had made the right decision all the more.

Vaysey was almost giddy with relief as he bounded down the stairs, arms open wide under the glowing sun to greet the open carriage. He was not as tall as the sheriff expected, but held an air of importance, and a rather…vibrant wardrobe as he stepped from the carriage. Dark eyes searched the surrounding area as hands were pulled free from fur-lined gloves, the garments being handed to a servant who took them quickly.

"Ah, Jacques De Chaffee," the sheriff greeted him with a smile. "I do trust that your journey was uneventful."

This was Prince John's man. It was through Prince John that Vaysey had first earned the title of Sheriff of Nottingham, and he owed a sort of allegiance to him. It was through him he had his power, and he knew that power could be lost just as quickly as it had been gained. So when disproval had been expressed over the happenings in Nottinghamshire, Vaysey had no qualms in placing the blame on his incompetent Master-at-Arms, Guy of Gisborne. Jacques De Chaffee was Prince John's answer to that problem.

"Bien sûr," came the muttered response, causing him to frown. The prince had guaranteed him a good man, to which all cases he might be, but Vaysey had at least expected one that could speak English. Communication would be…interesting.

"Pardon?"

"It was, as you say, uneventful. Ze ride…it was boring. Is zis all of, Nottingham?"

So he could speak English, a heavy accent causing a bit of a concern. The sheriff pursed his lips as he nodded, glancing around the towering walls before he grinned. "Quite a beauty at this time of the day, wouldn't you say?"

"Quel dommage…I expected it to be much…bigger."

"Ah, is that all?" the sheriff was quick to chip in, eager to turn to more pressing matters. "No matter, what it lacks in size it makes up for in character. Shall we give you the grand tour?"

"I did not come all zis way to sightsee," Chaffee interrupted, climbing the stairs so that he was now even with the sheriff. Another step and he was now the taller one, giving him the ability to look down on the sheriff as he spoke. "It is business zat I came for, and business zat we shall do."

"Of course," he replied, his voice thin. "I like a man of business, as much as myself. So where shall we start?"

"Ze lack of taxes?" came the mild suggestion, a smile on Chaffee's face. "Or we could discuss ze incompetence of your guards. John has informed me zey cannot capture outlaws. Perhaps you can tell me why?"

He could not miss the way Chaffee referred to the prince, the lack of title used, suggesting what he had first suspected. Chaffee was not only a good man, but one that was close to the prince. Vaysey would have to play his cards carefully. There was the chance of repercussions, certainly, but if he happened to hold all the right cards, he could gain more favor.

"Ah, the taxes. I think you'll be pleased to know that things are looking brighter, for us. The outlaws he mentioned won't be able to interfere. They are in the dungeons as of this morning."

He didn't bother to mention there was still one on the loose. It was not of Chaffee's concern, and come morning Hood would be only one man, the rest of his lot swinging in the early morning breeze. Oh how he liked it. Yet there was a fire behind the man's eyes as their gazes met.

"C'est vrai?" the man raised an eyebrow. "Zis I would like to see."

Amusing. Chaffee had refused a tour of the place that was to be his home, but at the mere mentioning of common thieves he had grown overly anxious. The sheriff paused, wondering if he could disregard the request without any trouble, but then smiled. It would be exciting to see how the new additions were getting along, and to flaunt his new prize in front of Gisborne's face. The fool hadn't the slightest clue that he was being replaced, and the sheriff did not want to miss the look on his face when he introduced his newest Master-at-Arms.

Quickly he called for some servants to carry Chaffee's personal belongings into the castle, but his request was waved away by the newcomer, Chaffee instead ordering about his own personal servants who responded with far more grace than Vaysey had ever seen a servant do. He could use some servants like those, all the ones here were slow and clumsy, and tended to cause more grief than anything else.

He would dwell on it later, grinning still as he turned to lead the way. Chaffee said nothing as they made their way through the corridors, aside from a general huff or breath of air that could barely be heard. Vaysey wasn't sure if the man was sick, or simply lacking stamina, having relished too far in the luxurious life. But soon enough they reached the dungeons, slipping past the guards that still mingled at the entrance languidly pacing back and forth. The sheriff was down the steps in an instant, taking a torch from the jailer as he walked into the room with a grin. Chaffee followed, but at a slower pace, still quiet as he took everything in.

Vaysey himself was amused, but a little disappointed. At his entrance, the outlaws had all scrambled to their feet from where they had been sitting. The first cell housed Marian, and the Saracen girl, more than enough room for the pair to be comfortable. But it was the second cell that caught his attention, where the other three were, and Gisborne. They had made quick work, to which he was impressed. The former Master-at-Arms was unresponsive, bound to the bars of the cell by his wrists with a crude rope. Loyalty, it certainly hadn't gotten Gisborne very far. The thought made him smile.

Yet it was disappointing, for his earlier visions of taunting the man would not take place. Not that it mattered, he could do the same in the morning when they were taking out to hang. Vaysey held the torch up a little higher, casting the light further as he turned back to Chaffee.

"Impressive, is it not?"

Chaffee stepped closer to the bars, as if a scientist studying a result he couldn't quite figure out. "Is Nottingham dungeon so small zat you must put zem altogether?"

"Personal choice, really," he answered with a grin. "I find it more amusing this way, don't you?"

"It is not wise? Look, zey are like animals," he gestured to where Gisborne was tied, a frown coming on his face. "Attacking zier own…"

"Ah, well, that is what makes it so amusing. _He _is not one of their own. That is the former Master-at-Arms, Guy of Gisborne. Apparently the outlaws didn't appreciate being led into a trap."

Chaffee made a sort of sound that was crossed between a grunt and a scoff, the man straightening. "So tell me, what one is ze outlaw?"

"They are technically all outlaws now," he replied mundanely. Hadn't he made that part clear already?

"Ze leader, I meant. What one is…what did John call him? Hud?"

"Hood," Vaysey's expression turned to a frown. He had hoped this minor detail wouldn't surface just yet. He knew it would sooner or later, Prince John had heard countless of tales of how Locksley defied the law and caused pains within Nottinghamshire. And whatever Prince John knew, it seemed that Chaffee knew as well.

"He is not here?"

"Not at the moment, but I'm certain we shall see him in the morning when they go to hang."

"Hanging?"

"One of my favorite pastimes," the sheriff grinned. And it would easily be one of the best. Hanging a thief was good, hanging one of Robin's men even better. Hanging them all…and Gisborne and the lady…it was glorious. He could almost taste it, it was so sweet. Perhaps he could even hang Gisborne and Marian back to back, let the lovely pair go together. The thought caused him to smile even more.

"What a pity."

"Pity?"

Had he heard him right? Vaysey felt mildly ill. Had the prince gone through all the hassle, only in the end to send him some soft-hearted mongrel that would preach about trials and fairness and all the like? That he couldn't stand, he would rather take Gisborne back first, at least the man had somewhat of a spine. But Chaffee simply shook his head, letting out a droning sigh.

"So easy, and simple. It is over so quickly."

"The reason I prefer it," he emphasized, switching the torch from one hand to the other. Of course he would be the first to admit that he liked to spice things up every once in a while, but hanging would always be his first course of action.

"So you hang zem. Where is the fun in zat?"

"And I suppose you have a better idea?"

"Humiliation, it is simple, more effective. A person learns he is to hang when he breaks ze law. He does not fear. But everlasting pain…"

_Everlasting pain? _He liked the sound of that idea. Slowly he grinned, nodding for the other man to continue.

"I couldn't help but notice, on ze way in. Nottingham has…resourceful stockades…yet none of zem seem to be in use."

The stockades? This was Chaffee's brilliant plan? The sheriff could feel himself frowning. He had expected something more exciting. True, the stockades had not been used in years; he had tired of them shortly after arriving as sheriff, preferring a more permanent solution to pesky problems.

"Bind zem in ze center of town, show ze people of Nottingham what happens to outlaws. A few days, no food, no water, scorned by people. Zen take another outlaw, do ze same. I have seen it done before, breaks ze very spirit of any man."

This idea, he liked. The stockades had bored him, but perhaps because he had not used them correctly. He could leave a single outlaw in the stocks for two, three, maybe even four days straight. A full week perhaps? Maybe their spines would reform and give them an awkward gait. Vaysey grinned at this, his gaze falling to the first perpetual volunteer. As much as he enjoyed the idea of one of Hood's men struggling in the wooden contraptions beneath the glaring sun, there was another who he would enjoy seeing even more.

What a perfect way for Guy of Gisborne to spend his first day as an outlaw.

* * *

She was to hang the next morning. And the morning had come, and still she lived. Another day, and now it was nearly the third, but there was no change. Twice a day, once in the morning, the other in the late evening, a dish of half-edible food was shoved her way. She ate what she could, and gave the rest to the rats while she gathered her thoughts. The time had given her courage, allowed her to formulate a sort of plan in an attempt to escape. If she was to die, then it would be in a fight. She would not give the sheriff satisfaction in walking to the gallows cooperatively. But Marian was not sure when that would happen.

She had seen no one save for the jailer, and even he was scarce. A few of the times he had taunted her, but his voice had fallen silent when his jests provoked no response. Most of her thoughts were occupied by her current predicament, but they also wandered to Robin and his men, to Gisborne, and to what was happening in the world above. She couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. All the forces in the world did not keep Gisborne away on a normal day. Now that she was locked in the dungeons she suspected he would have been by her side indefinitely. Instead there had been no trace of him, nor had he sent any sort of word.

That was the reason why she had been surprised. Not only had it been the outlaws who had come, but Gisborne as well. She hardly had the time to ask; they weren't alone for long. Chaos had exploded inside the dungeons of Nottingham, an angry roar as outlaws and guards clashed, weapons clanging and screams echoing throughout the chamber. When the door to her cell was open, Marian tried to run out, to join the battle, but instead slammed into a body, falling to the ground with the weight of Djaq. It was shortly after that that the dungeons were empty, as though nothing had taken place. Then another clamor had begun.

She could briefly remember calling for them to stop, terrified out of her wits that they were going to kill one another. At first she thought they had, watching as Gisborne fell to the floor unresponsive. But somehow both her and Djaq had gotten through, or perhaps they had felt satisfied enough with simply knocking the man out. She could not convince them to leave him unrestrained. She supposed she couldn't blame them. She hadn't missed how Gisborne attempted to ransom them out.

It was only then she noticed the group was smaller than before. Not all of them were there. They were still angry, fuming and arguing amongst themselves, and so she had turned to Djaq, the Saracen having been quiet since the earlier commotion had died down. When she first had asked after Robin, it was all Djaq could do to shake her head, but nothing was said. She knew why too.

There was light coming in from above, the flickering of fire as the sheriff reemerged, this time with a man she had not seen before. There were a few snide remarks from the pair, the words quiet enough that she could not hear them. They had argued something, the sheriff first seeming irate, but then the tension eased as the man had grinned that wicked grin. It was something she did not particularly enjoy; it could only mean worse trouble for all of them. Marian felt herself let out a breath as they left, reveling in the safety of the dungeon; if one could even call it that.

"What of Robin?" she turned back to Djaq quickly, wanting to know what hope they had. If Robin was still free then there was always a chance. The Saracen let out a sigh.

"Gone; he is not here."

"What do you mean?"

"He left, days ago," it was Will who answered, watching them from across the way. He hadn't missed their quiet words. "There was a boy in the forest, he saw some men take Much. Robin's gone to find them."

So he had some notion of what had happened to Much. Good or bad she could not tell, but she knew Robin wouldn't have given up on the man that easily. Still she could feel her heart sink a little; there would be no one out there ready to help, they only had each other now. And Gisborne.

"What is he doing here?" she nodded to the man.

"Gisborne came and found us," Djaq answered to her side. She was standing now, arms crossed as she leaned against the bars. Marian knew it was not her first time here. Now that she thought of it, all of the outlaws had been in the dungeons at least once. Their attendance was improving. She let out a bit of a smile at that.

"We wouldn't have known otherwise. How did you end up here?"

"Same way you did. The sheriff. He _suspects_ I'm in league with you."

"Suspects," Will caught on quickly, "but doesn't know?"

"I am not certain he has proof. He seems hesitant to hang me, although I doubt he has some sort of conscience that is keeping him from doing so."

"It doesn't matter now," Allan voiced grimly. He was in the far back of the cell, enough so that Marian could only hear him. But she knew his voice well enough that she didn't need to see him. "We're all going to hang soon enough."

"We can still get out of this," Will argued. "We just need a plan."

"If we do this, then all of us go," she nodded to where Gisborne lay.

"He led us into a trap," John was angry. One of the few. Marian took a breath.

"There might have been a trap with or without him," she pointed out. "Whatever the case that was then, and this is now. He's one of us; he faces the same fate as we do. He can help."

"She's right," Djaq had moved to stand near her, grasping the bars as she leaned against them. "He can help."

"We don't even have a plan," Allan was quick in pointing that part out. But Marian already had a response.

"Then we need to think of one."

* * *

He heard her coming before he even saw the flicker of light. Actually he guessed it was her, but it wasn't hard. No one else ventured down here, and Much knew she would figure out where he was soon enough. His fever was better; even so he hadn't worked that day, given the time to fully recover. Eleri, however, was expected since her services were no longer required. With nothing to do, and quite lonely, he had spent most of his day sleeping. When he woke, this had been the first place he had come.

He wasn't drawn because of the beauty. It was quite beautiful, he had to admit, having seen nothing like it, but there were other motives on his mind. The light he had seen before was dimmer, barely visible, but clearly there. An opening at the top of the cave, the faintest outline of where the rocks gave way to another tunnel. Much has spent the last hour following the curve of the wall, minding the sudden drop and taking care to avoid it altogether. His fingers played over the smooth rock, frustrated that freedom could be seen, but never reached. It could not be climbed.

"I thought you might be here," Eleri announced herself as she crawled through the opening. The flare of her torch joined his, illuminating the cave all the more. She took in a breath, savoring the sight before turning back to him. "You must be feeling better."

He nodded, his eyes still tracing the walls. He saw her move near him, her gaze following his. "That opening seems to grow a little bigger every year."

"You know about it?" This was a surprise. Much hadn't suspected she knew, which was the sole reason he had never asked her about it. He had wanted to find a way out, and then surprise her. They could have escaped together, could have gotten out. Instead he saw her smiling.

"I told you, I've spent years trying to find a way out of here. That was one of my firsts. There is no way up."

That he knew. But it was infuriating to have it pointed out, as though it made it all the more real. She touched his shoulder then, beckoning him to follow. "Come, we have food."

"I do like food," he answered quietly, hungry as ever despite the fact he hadn't worked these last few days. But even the compelling notion of satisfying his stomach wasn't enough to draw him away. He could have a feast if he got out of here. Pork and beef, cheese and bread, all sorts of fruit. There was an entire manor full just above their heads, and the forest nearby surely held enough conies to feed all the workers in the mine. It was maddening to simply just give up. Robin would have found a way; his master wouldn't have just accepted defeat.

"You're thinking of him again, aren't you?"

He turned to her, surprised. Much had grown better about not talking of Robin. He knew that it upset her, although he couldn't understand why. But it seemed now as though he could not even think of the man. It made him nervous, wondering if she could somehow read minds.

She laughed at his questioning gaze. "I know that look," Eleri explained loosely.

"Oh," he muttered, the only answer he was able to come up with. "I just…he is a part of who I am. I just—"

"Do you remember what you asked me the other day?"

Much fumbled with his words, having been cut off the very moment he had been trying to explain. "What?"

"About…him, you know?"

It took him a moment to understand what she was talking about. Yet even when he nodded, he wondered if he truly understood to what she was referring to. Slowly she shifted, passing the torch from one had to her other before leaning against the wall.

"I wasn't always a slave; I used to be free, like you."

"I thought you didn't believe me," he retorted snobbishly, clearly remembering the times she had mocked him. But his taunt went unnoticed, for there wasn't even a hitch in her words.

"I used to have a home, a family, a husband. We weren't nobles or lords, we weren't rich or anything. But we were happy."

It was the second time she had mentioned a husband. The first he had been too ill to really take notice of it, but now Much could feel the smallest inkling of disappointment…of jealously, almost. Of course he liked women, and there were a few that had returned the feeling mutually throughout his years, but nothing serious had ever taken place. There had been times he had wondered about Eleri, but if there had been any hope with her, Much knew now that it could not ever be. Yet he had a suspicion this wasn't the reason why she was telling him this.

"What happened?"

He wouldn't deny that he was curious about her past. While he had spent near every day relating bits of his life, of the deeds he had done not only in war but upon his return home from the Holy Lands, Eleri had remained silent save for the barbs she cast his way. It was a solemn realization that he knew hardly anything about her, despite the fact they had been near each other for some time.

"We fell on hard times," she answered after a moment. There was a smile on her face, however small it was. She let out a sigh then, shifting her weight once again. "Winter was hard, we had little trade. We faced eviction because we couldn't pay our taxes. One morning I woke to find my husband gone. He returned a few days later, claiming everything would be fine, but he wouldn't tell me where he had gone. But he was right. Things were fine, for a while."

It was like many stories he had heard. And seen. For those who could not pay taxes, they found themselves on the streets. Beggars, he knew, often cluttered the entrance to Nottingham, collecting trinkets to try and sell or simply offering up an empty hand and hoping someone would place something inside. Much knew that Robin and the others, as well as himself, were well enough living in the woods, but they were used to life on the run. That was due mostly to war, he knew, and the help of the others. But not everyone was meant for forest life, and eviction meant little else other than death. He could recall a castle guard who had gone through something similar.

Robin had known Joe Lacy better than he had. Of course Robin would have; the man had more business in the castle while he was still the official Lord of Locksley. Much had often found those trips to the castle quite boring, and had always wondered why Robin insisted on dragging him along. But his master had a way with many people, and Joe, Much knew, had been a friend of Robin's.

Which made it all that much more difficult when it was discovered that the man was the culprit responsible for murdering innocent people, and allowing Much's master to take the blame. Much could understand why Joe had done so; there were many people who wanted to kill the sheriff. He shook his head at the thought; politics were far too complicated for him. Robin was better at that sort of stuff. Eleri was talking again, and Much found himself trying to catch what he had missed.

"One morning a man showed up, demanding for the money to be paid. I learned then that my husband had taken money with promise of repayment when things had gotten better. But they never did, and we were hardly able to pay for ourselves. We lost our home, and I was taken into service until the debt could be repaid."

"You were taken here?" That alone seemed strange. Out of all the places she could have been taken, an underground mining operation seemed a bit foolish to him.

She laughed, shaking her head. "No. I was taken to the castle in Herefordshire. My services there were the same as the other workers, except that I was not allowed to leave, or even see my husband. I was there for a little over half a year before I saw him again."

She was smiling, as if remembering something fond. It was followed by a soft laugh as she continued. "Somehow he managed to find a way to sneak in. He could not bear to be without me, and I missed him so." Here her voice dropped, and Much could barely hear what she said next. "That was the last time I saw him."

"Why? What happened?"

"It was said that the terms of our agreement were broken when he came to see me. I was taken and sold to a man elsewhere, and my husband was taken the gallows."

"Hanged?" he shook his head, appalled at the simple statement. "For seeing you?"

"I was in no position to argue, although I still did. I regret what we had done, but it could not be changed. My new…keeper, he was not a pleasant man. Things became worse when he discovered I was with child. I was often signaled out, given more work, and punished when I was not able to complete my duties. One night it was bad; I passed out, and when I came to I discovered that I had lost my child. I was kept there for some more time, then sold to Alfred. This has been my life ever since."

There had been little hesitation on her part when she had told him. Still he could tell by the sound of her voice that it had been hard. It brought for him his own thoughts, things he hadn't really considered for many years. But he didn't have a lot of time to dwell on them, Eleri's voice pulling him back out of his trance.

"Out of all the masters I've had, Alfred has been the kindest. But I've had the chance to see what life can be like, and I know that this is nothing more than a pretense. Alfred cares no more for me than my former masters, they only care about profit, and providing for themselves. Whether or not he…your master, whoever he is, is like, I can assure he that he is much of the same. What is there that you can say, to convince me otherwise?"

Much said nothing. He was lost for words, but he somehow suspected that she was right. Her mind was made up, no doubt in thanks to what she had experienced before. How could he show her, how could he explain that Robin was not like those other men? He himself had his own share of bad fortune, and could argue that he did know the difference. But something she had said earlier refused to budge from his mind.

He had always had a master, be it Robin or another. So how was he to know any difference?

**TBC**


	16. A Name

**Many thanks to Kegel for her beta! Hope you all enjoy :)**

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**Chapter 16: A Name**

It was a brisk pace, almost a jog but somehow stunted as he worked his way down the hill. Inside his heart beat feverishly, more from anticipation than from the strenuous journey he knew. He was so close now, he could almost taste it. Robin was certain he was right, his intuition telling him that he had been on the right path all along. Having left Witheridge, Robin had turned south, another day of travel putting him in at Thrushelton. This time, when he had asked, he had gotten answers.

Robin was at first surprised to learn that the two men he was searching for were brothers. But it was easily accepted, and even more convincing was his story when he asked after them. None of the villagers had been able to give him a straight answer, only knowing them in passing and having neither the time nor the motivation to really explain. The only concrete information he had garnered was that of another name. It was another village, but Robin had been assured that his questions would be answered there. Another half day of travel found him here, in the hills above Alston, a village about an hour north of Sherwell. With a grin he scurried down the hill, pushing his hood back so that it fell away from his face. It would do no good to frighten the very people that could help him.

"Greetings, my friend," he held up a hand to show he meant no harm, coming to a stop alongside the first fence. There was plenty of activity inside the village, and few had looked his way, but Robin was not being particular about who he spoke to. "I am looking for an old friend, perhaps you can tell me where she may be."

"If she was a friend, I think you would know," the man answered with a bit of a laugh as he moved to stand, wiping his hands clean on a ragged cloth.

"She is a friend of my mother's," Robin let the lie slip easily. He didn't much care of how he got the answer, he just wanted it. "Her name is Haggie, I was told that she lived here now."

"Crazy old Haggie?"

Robin found himself raising an eyebrow. _Crazy? _What exactly was that supposed to imply? The man was laughing, answering despite the fact Robin had yet to say anything.

"She really must be a very old friend, if you do not even know this. What is your business with her?"

"It is personal." This was starting to get tiresome; his patience was starting to grow thin.

"Well, whatever it is, you'd do well to just forget it. No one goes her way."

"Why?"

"She's a witch."

"A witch?" Robin shook his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Was this what all the commotion was about? A silly superstition?

"It's true," the man argued. "Anyone who goes to see her is never seen again."

"Is this so?"

"Honest as the day I was born," the man held up his hands, pointing a finger at the sky. "God knows I'm telling the truth."

"Then how do you know all of this?" Robin wondered, a small grin at the man's confusion. "Surely someone had to come back, in order to spread all of this nonsense. There are no such things as witches."

"I know what I believe," he argued firmly, apparently just now losing all his sense of humor. "But if you're a fool enough to ignore whatever is said, then be on your way. You'll find her in the woods behind you, that's all I know."

So it was the way he had just come. He turned to survey the woods, then nodded his thanks before setting off. A crazy old woman, is that what they had called her? None of the other villagers back in Thrushelton had mentioned this. Either because they did not know, or like he, did not believe in such stories. But Robin had to wonder what had started them, for reputation all started somehow.

There were stories about himself, he knew, that told of heroic deeds. On how he had slain hundreds of men singlehandedly in war, on the battle he had won while gravely injured. That time, it had been but a dozen men, and Robin had only received a cut to his forearm the time. Then there were stories about his deeds in Sherwood, even one, if he could remember right, told of how he rescued a poor frozen child from underneath the hooves of stampeding horses. That had been an amusing one to hear. In truth, it had been Will who had found the child, and there had been no death-defying feats involving dodging wild horses. But these tales all started the same, and that was from a bit of truth.

He would learn soon enough, if he was lucky. The difficultly now was in finding her. Yet Robin knew a little something about forests, having lived in one since his return from war. While he knew that this one was different from Sherwood, he also had a good idea of where to start looking. It was the river of Tamar that Robin came to first, before following it downstream, into the thicker part of the forest. With no access to a well, he assumed she would be located not too far from the life-sustaining liquid. Robin and his men had located their own camp based on similar requirements.

While there was no real river back in Sherwood, there were streams and ravines that filled their beds during the winter and spring, and during the summer rocky outcroppings would collect enough during rains to supply them. All of which were within walking distance of camp, further downhill. That helped to avoid floods during the wet seasons, but it wasn't always successful. Robin allowed himself a momentary grin as he came to a stop. That had to be it.

A small cottage, more of a hut he mused. It was roughly built, but stable, and far more obvious than what their camp was, but Robin wondered if she, like he, was running from the law. Most likely not, seeing she was taking no precautions, but it still left the question as to why she was living here, when a village was but a ten minute walk away. Quickly he crossed the clearing, jumping over a pile of fallen logs, and moved to the door. A knock revealed nothing, and curious he pushed his way inside.

"Hello?"

His voice was heavy, echoing in the small home that was cast in dim light. Only the rays of the sun greeted him, glaring through the slits of wood and bits of ceiling that was not even fully thatched. There was no one in sight, and hardly any sign that someone lived here. No candle, no fire in the pit. He let out a sigh. So he had been wrong.

He wondered when the last time someone had seen her was. The villagers he had spoken to earlier that morning had said she was old, and the man just a moment ago muttered something much of the same. Forest life was not easy on anyone, especially those high in age. Frustrated, and defeated, Robin sat down on a stump, holding his head.

There was no proof that this was the case here. He saw no body, but that did not mean that no incident had happened away from here. Then there was also the possibility that he had found some simple beggar's hut, and not the woman's he was looking for. Robin didn't doubt there were thieves living within these woods, just as there were in Sherwood. So he would have to move on. Another hour, then he would double back, and return to Alston to see what more he could learn. But before he could move, he heard it.

He caught sight of her coming over the ridge, basket in one hand, a long walking stick in the other, leading the way as she carefully navigated the hill. She was dressed like any beggar would be, with ragged clothes, and her hair had grown amuck, tangling with itself until you could not tell where it began and where it ended. There was grey there too, suggesting that she was like the villagers had said. Robin smiled, relieved. It had to be her.

"Hmm, are you going to help me, or simply stand there?" she asked once on level ground. Robin moved, pulling the basket from her one arm. It was then he first noticed, something that shocked him. She could not see.

"How did you know I was here?"

He hadn't made a sound, but somehow she had known. She hadn't been surprised, hadn't been alarmed. Instead she had scolded him, and now, she was laughing quietly. Robin's thoughts flickered quickly to what the man had said, but he chastised himself a moment later. She was not a witch.

"I may not see, but I know some things," came her answer as she ducked through the doorway. Robin followed, placing the basket on the crude table as she bent over the pit he had spotted earlier. A few logs were thrown in there, a bit of flint worked, and the beginning of a flame could be seen.

"My name is Royston White; I need your help."

It had been a long bout of silence since anything had been said. The fire was feeding hungrily on the wood, and the woman was busying herself over a small bowl that was thrust occasionally into the flames. When she failed to respond he let out a sigh, raising his voice a bit.

"Haggie, please…"

"I'm blind, not deaf," she cut him off. Her gaze turned his way, as if studying him with sightless eyes and he felt the smallest of chills. Once again his mind wandered back to what had been said, but he forced himself to forget it. Lack of sleep and long days of travel were doing him in. Perhaps that was where the stories came from; half-worn, half drunken men who had gotten lost in the forest. She wasn't ugly by any means, but she could give a fright in the dim glimmer of the woods if one wasn't paying attention.

"Look," Robin tried again, becoming edgy in the silence. "I came for your help; if you do not wish to give it, then tell me so. I cannot stay here and do nothing."

"So impatient. Youths," she shook her head, putting the bowl on the table. A spoon was thrust into whatever had been made, a portion dished out into a cup and handed his way. Robin hadn't moved since entering the house, so she had known his location without hesitation. Robin declined, but it was insisted, and so he took it, willing to have it just forgotten.

"Are you not even a little curious to why I am here?"

He knew who she was, or suspected at least. Reason told him that the likelihood of another aged woman within these woods was slim. Even so, he couldn't help but wonder what her thoughts were. A strange man was in her house, a house hidden within the woods, away from society. No doubt she was hiding from something, or someone perhaps. Robin and his men lived in similar circumstances. He also knew that if a stranger suddenly appeared, there would be a lot more questions asked than this.

"You've already told me why you are here," she replied with a bit of a snicker. "Eat, tell me what you think."

Robin glanced down to the mug, barely taking in what it was before he turned to her. "I came for help, not for food." Yet her gaze said otherwise, and with a sigh he brought it to his lips, and took in a mouthful. It was all he could do to swallow, hand to his mouth as he forced his body to accept what he had just taken.

"It's…not bad." It was worse, but he wouldn't say so. It did not serve one to anger the only person that could possibly help. But the old woman shook her head, turning from him.

"You lie."

"Well…I have had better," Robin admitted quietly, placing the cup down.

"But you are kind."

"What is this? Some sort of test?"

She was smiling as she sat, arms crossed as she watched him. At least she seemed to be watching him. Robin shifted uncomfortably, starting to rethink his decision in coming here. Had he gained the necessary information already, he wouldn't be here. She laughed just then.

"You are not the first to come for my _help_," her voice was steady as she stressed the last part. "Witch, they call me. Blame me for the plagues, illnesses, bad crops. Then they come find me when they want something done in their favor."

"I have never blamed you for ill will," Robin pointed out.

"Do I know that?"

"You would know," Robin nodded towards her. And he had a feeling that she would. It was confirmed by another smile.

"So what is it to be? A child for your wife, a bountiful harvest? Or do you want me to conjure up a storm to strike someone down?"

"You may be good at some things," he commented to her. "Though I doubt that is within your reach."

"You do not believe I am a witch?"

"You don't believe you are a witch. You said so yourself, that they call you one. But you never claimed to be."

"Clever," she nodded to him. "Why did you come?"

"I have been tracking a couple of men, by the names of Dax and Eloy-"

"Alfred's boys?"

"So you know them?" This was a good thing.

"I should. Alfred is only my husband."

This, was a surprise. He watched her, quiet for a moment as he thought. "Your husband?" When she nodded he continued. "But you said they were his boys…not yours."

"I am not his first wife," she shrugged, moving from her chair. Her voice was unwavering, as though talking of it bothered her not at all. "Though some would argue that I would be his last."

"He is dying then?" That, or already dead, Robin mused.

"Heavens no," she shook her head quickly. "Healthy and strong he is. He can afford the best of physicians, and the finest of necessities, and no one has the guts to try and kill him if you know what I mean."

"And why would someone want him dead?"

"I imagine there are many who would. Those that know him, who he truly is," she was going about the small hovel, moving various rocks and stones that were on the ground, shaking tattered blankest and hanging them on the walls over broken nails and hooks. What exactly she was doing Robin could not be sure, but his mind was elsewhere.

"Who is he really?" There was a feeling he had, one of the ones he could not ignore. Though he wished to know more about the two men who had taken Much, Robin had a feeling that their father, Alfred as he was known, had something to do with all of this.

"Depends on who you ask. Some say he is a noble, Lord of a manor a few miles north of Sherwell. Other say he is loyal to the sheriff of Devonshire, a good man who is kind and caring."

"And what do you say?"

She stopped in her tasks, turning back to him. It was eerie the way she watched him, even though Robin knew she could not see. But it felt as though she could. Perhaps in a sense she could. She always knew where he was, and what he seemed to be doing. He shifted, trying to ignore the uncomfortableness.

"I wasn't always blind," she finally answered. "And I'm younger than what I look. Let people believe what they think, no use in wasting my breath otherwise." She straightened, running a finger along her face, tracing a scar there that was nearly hidden by sagging wrinkles. "He never abused me in the public's eye. Yet there was hardly a time I was able to be free of him."

"And yet you are here now," Robin nodded towards her. There were other things, he presumed, that she was not speaking of. But he didn't need to hear them in order to understand. Alfred already sounded much like Gisborne, or perhaps the sheriff, only a little more discreet. The man put on a show, a front, appeared political and friendly in the face of the shire, but once hidden among his own his true nature came out.

"I never loved him; I was bought to be his wife, to bear him more children. I never let him touch me. I think he came to fear me. Maybe he believes I truly am a witch. One night I left, and I never went back. But by then the damage was done."

She let out a heavy sigh, sitting down on the feathered bed that was sporting more than one hole. "Any business you want with him, it is not good business. Find another place to go."

"I intend to get something back that was taken from me," Robin answered her quietly.

"Does this something happen to be a person?"

Robin nodded, then voiced his affirmative when remembering she could not see. He saw her smile, a small pitiful one as she shook her head.

"You will not get them back. No one leaves the mines."

"Mines?"

He was surprised. Robin had spent his days trying to figure out to what purpose the pair of men could be up to, and even just now had been trying to figure out what reasons Alfred had in wanting slaves. But mining had never come up in those thoughts. Now, it made sense.

"I would have heard of the mines by now."

"Alfred is edacious. The mines are on his lands, but to work them through the law he would lose more than half the wage he garners working it through other means."

"So he kidnaps men, forces them into slavery?"

"Where he can," she nodded to him. "Others are paid for, through secretive means."

"Someone has to know," Robin argued, his voice tight. "One does not have such an operation going on, and remain in utter secrecy."

"They know," she replied quietly. "But those who do still their tongue for fear of reprisal. Alfred is still their Lord, and has favor with the sheriff. If they speak, they end up dead or as workers in the mines."

He could understand how that worked. It made it all the more frustrating. "I must find a way into those mines," he told her softly.

"There is no way."

"There must be." This was one argument he wasn't going to back down on. "Alfred would need workers, guards, in order to hold the miners. They would revolt otherwise. If I can find the mines, I can find a guard. That is my way in."

"It will not work. Alfred has the place watched; you would be turned away even before you get near."

"Then I'll convince him to see me."

"And say what?" she wondered, amused now. "That you know of his secret mines, of his illegal slave trade? Where exactly do you think that will get you?"

It was frustrating. But Robin knew that Haggie was right. These lands were not familiar to him, and he did not know what he was facing up against. Everything was in Alfred's favor, and Robin knew he would be walking straight into a trap. Doing so would do no favors for anyone. But there had to be a way. He hadn't come this far just to give up hope now.

"How…how are the guards chosen? Surely they are not slaves as well." They couldn't be. Robin knew this fact all too well. The guards had to come and go on their own free will if any sort of order was to be present. But were they allies of Alfred? Friends he had convinced to go along with the maddening plan, or simply men for hire?

"You are clever," came the answer. The woman laughed when Robin failed to respond. "It is dangerous, but I suppose no more than coming to find a witch to ask for help."

"I will find a way in," Robin voiced sternly. "I'll expose him, put an end to his operations."

"You'll need proof. That doesn't come easily. If you're caught snooping around, you will be killed."

"Tell me how I can get in."

She answered him with another smile, her voice steady. "You need a name."

* * *

When they first happened, he blamed the fever. But with no traces of it left, he could only point a finger at her, at what she had said. Her words were in his every thought, and at night when he dreamt, they became all too real.

It was not the first time Much had dreamt of Robin and the others. He did often, a longing that he could not explain, a hole that could never be filled. Mining was not getting easier, as Eleri had once suggested. Each day passed slower than the rest, and now, even at night, he could not find peace.

They started as always, his dreams. Where they were in Sherwood, when times were better. What exactly was happening Much could never say later, for the thoughts were lost among his mind in the time of waking. But that night, and the following nights, he could remember well. Of things that were real; Robin with the knife, how close the man had come to killing him. It hadn't been Robin's fault, Much knew, but he could not banish it from his mind.

There were other things too, things that seemed minor in comparison with the first event, but all the more real. Then there were the things Much could not tell if they were real, or imagined, fed by fear and misunderstanding. Robin would turn on him, without warning, words were said that struck him to the very core. They were fears he always had, he assumed, and now were just coming to light.

Waking brought him little comfort. To come to in the dark cave, the bits of water dripping from above, the ground wet beneath him. The air was heavy, and hard to breathe, and the work waiting to be done. It was a never-ending process, of digging into the wall, of carrying the buckets, and starting over once again. They were getting nowhere, and nothing came of their hard work. They would live, and die, within these mines. It was this realization that struck him when he finally gave in.

Eleri cautioned him. They hadn't spoken much in these last few days. What was there to say? Much had come to understand that none of it mattered. Whatever was said often led to an argument, and the man could feel his reasonings slipping away on empty air. No matter how many times he said it, none of it was true. Even now he began to feel himself questioning Robin's motives, and the others as well. Did they even notice he was missing? Were they even looking for him?

He had feared the answer before, but Much believed he knew now. They had forgotten about him. They were not looking for him, and Robin would never find him. It had been shocking when these thoughts first crossed his mind. He had tried to blame the fever again. But that was long gone, and Much could only face the fact that it was reason telling him differently now. Robin had the others, he had Marian…what did he need him for?

That was the thought that was with him as he drove the pick into the wall for the final time. A bit of coal had broken off, tumbling to his feet, but he made no move to collect it. Instead he sat where he was, pick resting in his lap as he stared at the wall. He was finished; it was over. Much didn't care what would happen to him; none of mattered anymore.

Eleri tired to cover for him, as long as she could, her voice low and hurried as she pleaded to make him see sense. But he already had, and Much felt his resolve as he was determined not to give in to her pleading. He had given in long enough. They could do what they willed. And so when Garner found him, and threatened him, it was easy to ignore the man. And when the guards came to take him away, he didn't even resist.

If he had thought before that Eleri had lied, then there was no doubt now. The room was as she had described, cold and barren, dark and dank. He panicked at first, when the hood was drawn over his head. It was hard to breathe, and he could not free his hands to pull it off. If he passed out, he could not recall. Much was only grateful for the fact he hadn't dreamt. If this place was better than the mines, he couldn't say. He didn't want to go back, but he didn't want to stay here either.

For him, time stood still. There were no sounds save for his own breath. He tried hard to listen for the rodents scurrying along the ground, but nothing came. With no distractions, his thoughts were allowed to wander. Something that he did not wish for. Thinking of Robin only made things worse, a pain inside of him he could not describe. Perhaps Eleri was right, perhaps he did hold Robin in too high of an esteem. Perhaps he idolized the man more than he should. And did Robin return any of those favors? Did Robin value him just as much?

He couldn't form an answer. Much desperately wanted to believe the man did. But for every right he could think of, another, darker aspect of their complicated past crept up, proving him all the more wrong. For every quiet conversation they had shared, there were cruel words that rang within his mind. And no amount of logic could convince him that none of it had even happened.

What were the others doing? This was another thought. He could see them in his mind, could imagine they were back at camp, helping the poor. Doing what they always had done, but perhaps better now that he wasn't there. Often a times he had messed up, had been the clumsy one, the one that made plans go sour. The gang was more in likely revealing in the fact that he was no longer there to cause the problems. The thought hurt more than he wanted to admit, and Much tried to put it behind him. That part of his life was over; this is what he had left. And it was not a comforting notion.

He wasn't sure how long he had been down there when the hood was removed. Ill from his thoughts he wasn't hungry, and as the room was void of any natural light he hadn't been able to keep track of time. He blinked, testing his eyes as his vision focused on the man in front of him. When he saw who it was, Much wasn't sure if he should be grateful, or angry. The man reached up to remove the gag, letting out a sigh.

"It's a little late for rebellion, don't you think?"

"What do you want?"

"I heard you were down here," Dax answered him. "I convinced Alfred to let you go back down, if you promise to work."

He didn't want to go down. He wanted to go up. He no longer cared if it was back to Robin, or off on his own. He just wanted to be free. When he said nothing the other let out another sigh.

"Look, I took a risk in convincing them to let you out of here. But the rest of it is up to you. Do you want to stay here?"

"Why are you here?"

He was curious, but he also didn't want to be taken down, not just yet. There was a bitter resentment starting to grow as he watched the man. It was because of him that he was here, because of him that all of this had happened.

"You brought this on yourself," Dax warned him quietly. Perhaps there were others listening in, the very reason he was trying to stay quiet.

"I brought this on myself?" Much didn't care if others were listening. "How?"

"The boy in the forest. If you had let us be on our way you wouldn't be here."

"I could not just let you take a boy," Much shook his head at him. At the same time he was feeling bitter. Robin would have done the same, although Robin wouldn't have gotten caught. And even if he had, he would have found a way out by now. Yet he himself, was still here. What a lousy outlaw he was.

"Maybe not," Dax agreed, surprising him. "Perhaps that is one thing you can think of. That the boy is free because of you."

Much had nothing to say in return. He hadn't thought of that, the boy from the forest hadn't even once crossed his mind. It was true, he supposed, but he wasn't sure if that made him feel better, or worse. What if he had let the men take the boy? Then he would be back in Sherwood too, he would be with the others. Robin would have had his feast, they would have celebrated, and life would be good. But the more he thought about it, Much realized that he would feel guilty if he hadn't tried to rescue the boy. He let out a bitter sigh. If only he hadn't gone out that morning, none of this would have happened.

"Are you ready to go?"

Dimly he let out a nod, careful to admit that he was relieved to have the bonds removed from his wrists. He rubbed them, trying to bring the circulation back fully, fisting his hands as he was led away. Dax did not follow, simply watching as he was led away by the guards. He still wasn't quite sure why Dax had come, or why the man had helped. Was it through guilt, or another reason entirely? Much wasn't able to answer that, but he also couldn't help but wonder if that was the last time he would ever see the man. He had a strange feeling, that it wouldn't be.

**TBC**


	17. Terms

**Thanks goes to Kegel as always for the beta. Had a lot of fun in writing this, hope you all enjoy it as well. Love reading your thoughts, so take a moment to let me know what you think! :) **

**Enjoy.**

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**Chapter 17: Terms**

He hadn't had the best of weeks. From Marian's sentencing, to working with the outlaws, sneaking through the town, crawling through slime-ridden sewers and being locked in the dungeons, and left to the mercy of notorious outlaws, this week was ending on a rather sour note. He had been humiliated, beaten, knocked out, restrained, and now, he had been thrown in the stockades. Something slammed into him then, the putrid fruit bursting open on contact, slime-ridden juice running down his face and into his mouth. Gisborne let out a scream, struggling in his bonds, ignoring the pain.

"Wretched hooligan! I will kill you!"

He could see the kid run, scampering back into the crowds, a gleeful laugh following. The child was gone almost as soon as he appeared, and even with all the luck in the world Gisborne would not recognize him if he saw him again. This was how it had been, ever since this morning when the sun rose. The sheriff had been gleeful, watching as a number of guards dragged him from the cell, fighting off the outlaws that had tried to break their way out. Gisborne had first suspected the sheriff was done playing his game, had been granting him freedom. How miserably wrong he had been.

It was high noon now, but Gisborne had long lost count of how many things had been thrown at him. And exactly what they all had been. Part of him did not wish to know, but he suspected it could be nothing worse than what he had found in the sewers. The strangest thing was the amount.

Somehow it seemed as though the population of spoiled food had grown. Fruit hurt the least, being mostly soft, but carried the worst of smells and tastes. Plus they had the tendency to explode on impact, spilling their putrid juices everywhere. It clung to his face like a vice, sticking in his hair, his eyebrows, trailing down his lips where he was forced to spit constantly. Gisborne couldn't decide if he preferred those over other options though.

Vegetables had also been thrown his way. Most of them were wilted and too poor to be eaten, but if aimed right, it left him withering with a pounding headache. Luckily for him, the rocks that had been thrown in his direction had all missed. But sooner or later he was sure someone with a better aim would have his luck. The thought worried him.

He let out another scream, twisting in the firm boards, groaning from the effort. His back was on fire, his neck so stiff he could barely turn to look about him. His legs were growing weary, and Gisborne hadn't the slightest clue to how much longer he was to remain in this blasted contraption. He hated to admit it, but he had grown jealous of the outlaws. All of them were relaxing in comfort, shielded away from this onslaught. Gisborne knew he had won no hearts with the peasants, but surely he didn't deserve all of this, did he?

"Enjoying our new position, are we?"

"Milord!"

He couldn't say how relieved he was to hear the sheriff's voice. The lesson had been learned, he was more than ready to go. No more helping outlaws, no more sneaking around the sheriff's back. Even Marian was pushed from his thoughts. Almost. He would figure a way to secure her freedom once his position was secured. If the sheriff hadn't hung her by now, than surely he did not mean to ever do so. It would take a lot of begging, a lot of pleading, and performing like a monkey. But whatever he had to do, he would do it. As long as it let him out of here, as long as it gave him another chance.

"Getting along with the locals I see," the man grinned, coming into his view. He stood close enough to reach him, but both hands were clasped behind his back, surveying him. The onslaught of items had ceased, for now, and Gisborne shook his head, doing what he could to get the stench off of him.

"I think you'll learn to grow fond of them after a while."

"No, milord, have mercy," he begged. The thought of staying out here much longer frightened him. The humiliation was more than he could bear. He was a man of title, Sir Guy of Gisborne, the Master-at-Arms, current Lord of Locksley. He deserved more respect than this. But the grin on the sheriff's face told him otherwise. Gisborne could feel his heart sink. What horrendous tricks could the sheriff be planning now?

"Am I not being merciful enough? I did have plans to have you hang. I rather am enjoying this, however. I just hope you can see the beauty in all of this as I do."

"Milord, please," Guy tried again, not willing to give up so easily. For all that he done for the sheriff, even traveling thousands of miles in an attempt to commit the gravest of treasons, surely he deserved a fair chance. The man could not dispose of him so easily, could he? "I have always served you well; let me show you I can do so again."

"Oh, you needn't worry about that anymore," Vaysey chuckled, walking openly in front of him. The crowds dissipated even further, no one even glancing their way, as though everything that had taken place moments before had been completely forgotten. As well as they should be. No one would dare throw rotten fruit his way, not while the sheriff stood there. A stray fruit or clump of dirt with a poor aim could hit the man instead, and there was no question about the chance of retaliation and death. It was a minute reprieve, but Gisborne was grateful for it none the less.

"You see, your incompetence has depressed me greatly as of late. But no worries, I've already found another to take your place; this idea, it was his. Very fetching, wouldn't you agree?"

So he had been replaced. The thought was grim, but more alarming than anything else. It meant he was disposable. Gisborne had no difficultly in remembering De Fourtnoy, the previous Master-at-Arms. He too had been disposable, and Gisborne had seen it through. Now the sheriff was doing the same here; a new toy to play with. Out with the old, in with the new. How had he let his position slip?

It was Robin's doing. The blasted, wretched outlaw. He was out there, somewhere. While he had been off advocating for the poor, or whatever incomprehensible thing the man did, Gisborne had been risking his position, his title, and now apparently his life. No doubt Hood was about, watching from a rooftop with mirth, planning on how to rescue the others and leave him behind to the mercy of the sheriff. The man who had once been his protector…now Vaysey seemed determine to humiliate him.

"You can't mean to leave me here," Gisborne breathed as the sheriff set off. It caught the man's attention, and the sheriff turned back around.

"Yes, I know. A mistake on my part. A clue?" the man shook his head, drawing another scream from Gisborne. The sheriff merely laughed at his predicament, and strode off, inviting the ruffians to begin their game once more. Gisborne was furious. He was being punished no better than a measly outlaw, for things that were never even his fault.

He would get out of this. And when he did, Hood would pay.

* * *

For all the things he had done, Robin knew that he should not be nervous. It was not only in war where he had found himself in troubling situations; the sheriff, Gisborne, no doubt, had proven that to be true more often than not. Even in situations where Robin had believed he would not come out alive, he had managed to keep his calm. Now, he was close to losing it altogether.

He had stayed the previous night with Haggie, much to his digress. But he knew the importance of it, knew that everything counted on the fact he could remember what was said. So the night had been spent relaying the information, recalling from memory each and every detail. When she was satisfied, Robin had set off.

He would be questioned, Haggie had said. There was a fine line between truth and falsehood, and even at the smallest misstep there would be no mercy shown. If the men saw through his guise, Robin would not be allowed to live. This fact she had stressed over more than once, but it wasn't dying that Robin was afraid of. It was losing perhaps the only chance he had to find his comrade. This was why he needed to keep his calm. He could not afford to make a mistake.

There had been a guard, just as the woman had described. How long she had been away from Alfred he could not say, but her memory was precisely vivid. The man had been dressed in simple villager clothes, but Robin was quick to pick up on the hidden blade in the folds of the cloth. Also he noted how the man carried himself, someone who held position, strutting about at the front of the path that led into the woods.

Robin knew he could easily pass by if he took to the trees. But it would not help him in this case. If he was to gain accesses to the mines, then he had to play this right. He had greeted the man openly, announced himself, and let slip the one word that Haggie had promised would grant him passage. The man had paused at the name, as if considering something, and then he had nodded, allowing Robin to pass. Another long road to travel, but soon he could see the building rise before his eyes.

At the front of the manor he was stopped again, by more guards, their station obvious unlike the first. Robin relayed the same message, and within moments he was escorted inside the manor. The fine craftsmanship was easy to note, stressing the fact that the man had money. The manor itself resembled more of an inn as opposed to a simple house. There had to be near a dozen rooms with just a simple glance, all of fairly comforting size. Robin could only guess what they were all used for.

It was to the main hall that he was taken. Or Robin assumed it was that, considering how open the room was, adorned with decorations and lavish furniture. A long table, lit with candles, occupied the middle of the room, and at the far end of the room there was a crossing stairwell that led to the level above in which Robin assumed there were just as many rooms. This place was certainly a maze. He was quick to take in his surroundings as he waited.

The hallway to his right led back outside, to his left was another long corridor. Telltale signs of another exit could be seen, the light filtering through. All these details, and more, he took in. Should the need for a sudden departure arise, Robin wanted to be ready.

His attention was turned back to the room as he heard the steps. Two men had stayed with him in the room, a third had disappeared to the second floor. Now he was returning, another man behind him. Alfred, Robin guessed, certain as ever.

He wasn't as young as Robin suspected, but neither was the man terribly old. Haggie had been right about his health; the man seemed fit as ever, without a swagger in his step, or hitch in his breath. There was a look of irritation about his face as he reached the bottom floor, a frown on his face. It was time for the games to begin.

"What is it that you want?"

"A friend of mine told me that I could find work here. I came by to see if the offer was still open."

It was through another source that the guards were hired. A man in which Alfred had limited contact with. Haggie had told him how the two met up, twice a year to exchange valued goods. Namely men in exchange for profits. Alfred paid a hefty sum for men who knew well enough to keep their tongues still. And it seemed this contact also earned a portion of the wages from workers that were accepted. But while Robin did not have the time or the patience to find the other, Haggie had casually brought up the fact that there were times when he had sent a worker or two Alfred's way alone. This is what Robin was hoping for now.

"A friend?"

"I believe his name is Stephan," Robin continued. "I worked with him for a time, years back. A small man, bit of a gimp in one leg. He said if I ever was in Devonshire to find you, that you would have work."

He talked passively, as if it was no real matter. Robin had to keep reminding himself to do so. He could not seem overly-eager to be accepted here. Haggie had warned him he may even be turned down, and that if he was, there could be no arguing. Feign innocence, she had told him, otherwise they would be suspicious. And suspicion was unwanted. It would mean the difference between leaving here alive, and finding another way into the mines, or forfeiting his life as it was.

"And what is it exactly that you do?" Alfred questioned him. That had come after a moment of thinking, as if the man was choosing his words carefully.

"I'm a man of skill," came Robin's reply. It was followed with a shrug, "I can learn to do whatever is needed." He wasn't sure if he was trying to sound arrogant, or determined. Robin didn't care to elaborate, only to let the man think what he wanted. Another thing Haggie had commented on. Alfred was a difficult man to persuade, and if the man thought even for a moment you were trying to trick him, he would go back on his word, and possibly your life.

"Did he mention what you would be doing?"

This was a test. And Robin did not falter. "He did not say directly. Only that the work was hard, at times dangerous, but that it paid good. And the money I need."

People knew about the mines. But no one admitted to it. Stephan did not pass that knowledge along, and so Robin could not say that he knew. He couldn't help but wonder if everything he was doing was right. Normally he held his own well enough, but neither had he been in such a situation before. With the sheriff, and Gisborne, it was different. Robin knew them well enough to judge their moods, their reactions. Alfred, on the other hand, was someone he had no history on, other than the ramblings of a woman who could be, by any means, half mad with delusions.

He wished, for the first time then, that Allan was here. The man was good with words, skilled in both the hand and the art of deceiving. He was also clever enough, and Robin couldn't help but wonder how easy this would have been for the man. Inside his chest his heart pounded ferociously as the silence stretched, and it was all Robin could do to keep his breath even. There was no telling yet if he had failed, but he had to stay strong.

Betraying the fact he was nervous, timorous beyond comprehension, would do him no favor. He fought the sudden urge to reach for his weapon. His bow and quiver, as his sword, had both been taken upon entering the manor, and even now they were restrained by another guard. But the dagger he had was kept hidden, snug against his skin. A lifeline, his only, in case he should be discovered.

"What is your name?"

"Royston White, from Nottingham, in Nottinghamshire."

"I did not ask where you were from," Alfred responded irately. "If you cannot even follow simple orders, then I doubt this work is for you."

"Perhaps it is not," Robin agreed, keeping the disappointment from his voice. He knew already that it was too late. The mistake had already been made, that was easily judged by the tone in the man's voice. Robin also knew that this was his cue, the one that said it was time to depart. It would make matters difficult, but Robin also knew he first had to live if he was to find a way into the mines. And he would find a way.

"Forgive me for intruding. But it seems as there is nothing I can do here. I will be on my way then," he gave the man a short bow, before turning, headed to collect that which was taken from him. But a call stopped him, and Robin soon found himself facing the man once more.

"Perhaps you can. It is difficult to find men like you. Most would argue with my decision, and I do not tolerate insubordination very well. You prove differently. I'll have one of my men show you around, and once you know, the decision to stay will be yours."

Another test, and Robin could feel himself smile a little, having already gone through a few of those with Haggie. Perhaps it was where she had learned it, or maybe it was the other way around. He would stay, of course, for that was the entire purpose he was here. Robin could also remember the words Haggie had spoken, on the cruelty the man held. The marks she had shown him proved it to be true as well. Robin doubted the fact there really was a choice in staying, or leaving. Alfred would not willingly give away the information of his mines to strangers and let them leave. The choice now was between staying, and accepting death.

"Dax. He will be in your charge until further notice. Don't disappoint me."

Robin had stiffened upon hearing the name. It was one he had learnt well, and unique as it was, there could be no mistaking. Though he had never seen the man for his own eyes, the descriptions matched well enough. A tall man, stoutly built, a wispy reminder of Little John. But he was not like John; not at all. Robin knew this fact well. The same guard that had taken his weapons upon entering the manor was the one who had moved. Before Robin hadn't paid him any heed to the man, thinking him simply another guard. But there he was, the same man who had taken Much. The same man responsibly for all of this trouble.

It took all of Robin's effort to conceal his anger. Already he could feel his fingers edging to where his dagger lay, wondering if he had the time to make a strike. He could bring him down, could extract revenge as he so often had in war. It was a foolish thought, but Robin could not help thinking of it. This was no war, instead a personal revenge that would get him nothing but his own death in return.

So he forced a smile, trying his best to remain civil, and if he could help it, friendly. He would deal with the man later, once all of this was sorted out. That was a promise he made himself. If Dax noticed the apprehension he held, the man did not comment. Instead his weapons were handed off to another guard, the man motioning for him to follow as he made his way outside.

He was going to argue at first, but held his tongue. Robin felt insecure without his weapons, even more so traveling with this man. But at the moment he held no choice, not if he wanted to find Much, and bring this unsettling reality to an end. The mines of Sherwell would not be in operation in the near future. And there was a lot he would have to accomplish in that time. First he had to gain trust here, figure out how many were inside, and how the mines were worked before he tried anything.

And of course, he still had to find Much.

* * *

Sheriff Vaysey of Nottingham was in a particularly gleeful mood. A rather pleasant feeling, one he hadn't had in a long time. There had been a lot of sourness, of worry, depression. But all of that was changing. It was amusing to see Gisborne to the stockades, his temporary home. He could remember the glee of announcing his imprisonment, of charging him with his crimes. Oh, and the little game he had invented on his own; that had been the best part of the day. The rotten, spoiled shares from the castle kitchen, placed out in neat containers situated around the main event, easy access for the locale. Perhaps he could even create a spectacle out of it. Use some dye, paint a target on Gisborne's face. Then he could have every man, woman and child in Nottingham line up and take their turn. The winner could keep Guy's leather boots, gloves, or whatever wretched piece of clothing the man owned…what a thought!

Yes, he was in a fabulous mood. Even the guards noticed, one of them even commenting on how he seemed to _skip _merrily, like child…Vaysey would deal with that man later. His men would learn to hold their tongues, or they would lose them. Still, even that wasn't enough to put a damper on his spirits as he entered the castle from his latest expedition. Seeing Gisborne struggle in the stockades was providing a vast amount of entertainment. Another smile crossed his face as he came into the room, seeing that his guest had finally pulled himself free of the bedchambers.

"I do trust you slept well," Vaysey announced himself, rubbing his hands. He came to a stop, a frown on his face just then as he took in the scene before him. "You seem to have made a mistake, my good fellow. That happens to be my chair."

"My night, it was dreadful," Chaffee answered, ignoring the latest statement. The man was reclining in the seat, studying his fingers on one hand as if there was something interesting there.

"Who cares about your night, my chair-"

"Sit!"

Vaysey had to convince himself it was through sheer surprise that he listened. No one had raised their voice like that to him, save for the occasional outburst from Gisborne or his leper, and Hood. None of which who he cared for, but this man held authority. Though Jacques De Chaffee worked for him, the man was still employed by Prince John. It would not be wise to upset him.

"Zis…Nottingham, it is unbearable. How can one do anything, or even sleep in such…dreary surroundings?"

"Pardon?" his voice came out in surprise, hardly distinguishable. He was not expecting that from the man.

"Zere is no colour, no feeling. All is black, all is dark. You would zink zat all ze candles have been stolen."

Not enough color? Was he hearing this right? He had ordered a Master-at-Arms, and instead had gotten what? An interior designer? Obviously this had to be some sort of joke. "What of it?"

"I cannot zink under such circumstances. And you…" the man's voice trailed off, a few disproving sounds coming from his lips.

"What about me?" Vaysey growled, his patience growing thin. Chaffee was starting to sound like a woman now. Gisborne's incompetence, his infatuation with Marian, that he could handle. He actually enjoyed the latter, to a point before it became irritating. But this…

"It seems as though taxes are not ze only thing Hud is stealing. He seems to have made off with all your clothing as well, save for zat one."

"These, are fine silks," Vaysey stressed, shaking the fabric before the man's eyes. They had specially been made at his request. Personally he felt black suited him well. "Nothing that dirty outlaws would have anything to do with. They wouldn't know fine taste if it wrapped about their necks while they dangled!"

"Zey are not the only ones," Chaffee muttered quietly, letting out a sigh as his voice trailed off. "No, I fear it is too oppressive to work here. I have made arrangements to travel to…what is it called, Lockslay?"

"Yes, of course, your promised price," the sheriff rolled his eyes. Obviously he was just as greedy. Chaffee was taking over all of Gisborne's responsibilities, but Vaysey doubted the man saw this as a burden. Let the little man run off to his new village, have as much color as he wanted there. As long as business was done, and that, Vaysey had a good feeling was already happening, what with outlaws already in his hold.

Robin alone could not ambush every tax consignment, nor could he bring down every guard that sped through the forest with a purse. A few he would get, Vaysey had already accounted for that. Yet he couldn't help but feel the man was distracted by the latest turns of events. He was being cautious enough now by not showing his face, but sooner or later he would be caught. This made him smile.

"Yet Hud has been an outlaw for how long? Why is it ze lands are still in his name?"

Vaysey found himself frowning again. Why did the man always have to bring the blasted outlaw up? It always dampened his spirits on the situation. "Who cares what it is called, as long as taxes are paid?"

"Ah, but to have lands is an honour. Zat, we cannot allow."

"And what is it that you propose?" he wondered mildly, already having an idea what the other was going to say. He was growing edgy, this talk was starting to bore him. He could care less if every single village, house and wretched peasant remained nameless. It didn't matter to him. And he didn't appreciate sitting here and being lectured by a man that worked for him. Still he said nothing on that matter; Chaffee seemed to be the favorite of Prince John.

"Lockslay will become De Chaffee. John already supports my decision, as should you. I shall announce it upon my arrival. You will accompany me, no?"

A hard decision to make. A day at the castle, with flitting moments out to see how Gisborne was fairing. Trips to the dungeon to mock the outlaws and boast about his success, as opposed to spending the day on horseback, watching with disinterest as an overly-flamboyant man paraded about his new village. Vaysey felt himself smile.

"There are other matters that need to be attended to, I fear. But you should get along well enough on your own; send me word when you get there, right?"

He moved to stand, but Chaffee cleared his throat, stopping the sheriff in his tracks. Vaysey turned, the irritable grin on his face still. He was no dog to be commanded about, but with the position still so new, he did not want to risk anything.

"Yes?"

"I must insist you come with," Chaffee continued, a smile on his side now. "I do not know my way. It would be undesirable if I were to lose my way."

The bit of parchment was handed his way, one that Vaysey took hesitantly after a moment. A letter from Prince John, carried by Chaffee's hand. Not something he was keen on having, but here it was none-the-less. It was unfolded with deft movements, Vaysey frowning as he read it.

"What does he mean by this?"

"Ze danger here is obvious, your reputation known. John could not just send me on my way, not without protection."

"He offers a piece of parchment as your protection?" The sheriff wondered, raising an eyebrow. There were but a few simple words scribbled on the page, the seal on the bottom clearly marking who it was from. But all it said was that Chaffee was to remain unharmed. What sort of protection was that?

"Ze deal, my sheriff, is zat if anything should happen to me, zen you will pay ze price. You will be ousted as ze sheriff, and Nottingham and any other village involved, will be destroyed."

"Pardon?"

Prince John could not be serious with this arrangement. When he had requested a better man, he had meant for one that would help him achieve his goal of bringing the Prince to be a King. Now it seemed as though the man was making things all the more difficult. To be ousted as sheriff? Him? Stripped of his title, without any power?

"Zat is ze agreement. So I suggest you prepare your horse; I wish to arrive in De Chaffee before ze sun has set. And I wish for a meal before we go. I dislike travel on an empty stomach."

His jovial mood was now gone. Vaysey was utterly certain he would never experience the simple pleasure again. His mind was afire with many questions, but the most prominent was the most obvious.

What, had he gotten himself into?

**TBC**


	18. Closer

**Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta. You guys are great, love reading your thoughts!**

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**Chapter 18: Closer**

He was given a room on the top floor. Not the largest of rooms, but enough space for him to sleep, and a small storage area which remained uncluttered due the fact he had very little with him. That was helpful, though, he decided, seeing that the room was shared with three others. All of which who were perimeter guards, the same position that had been given to Robin. That alone was infuriating, for it meant he had no access to the mines, and many of the rooms were restricted from him. This was not the first time he had been in this position, and he had it in mind to see that was changed.

When he had first gone off to the war, it had been much of the same. By simply being of noble blood he was given more opportunity, but still he had been nothing more than a crusader fighting for King Richard and England. It was through his skills and bold action that he advanced from the low ranks within the army, to the King's Private Guard. It was no secret, to anyone, that the king had held him in high regards. Robin was one of the few that could directly challenge the man without fear of being rebuked. But that mattered little here.

He bore only the name of a simple man, carrying no indication of his nobility, and skill with bow and arrow, or a sword, would do him no favor here. He was simply another worker, a name on a list, and was given no second glances. As frustrating as it was, Robin knew he had to consider himself lucky. The simple fact he had come this far allowed him access to the grounds, and that was in his favor.

During the first days he had spent his time with Dax. It was easier to tolerate the man now than it had been in the beginning, but Robin would never go as far to say that he grew to enjoy his company. Had Robin not known what the man was responsible for, then perhaps he could have. But the bitterness that stemmed from knowledge would not allow that feeling to develop.

Dax had been responsible for introducing him to his trade, explaining to him what his role here would be. Robin had feigned innocence, had pretended to be surprised. Yet it was all he could do to keep his temper at bay. The thoughts were with him, the knowledge that one person he sought was just below his feet. And though Robin knew where the entrances to the mines were, he also knew there was little chance of slipping inside. Guards, both above, as well as below, kept watch, and only those who had rank were permitted to enter.

Size was the other issue. These mines were far larger, far deeper than the ones he had known in Treeton. They had been easy to destroy; with the strike, there had been ordered maybe a dozen men to work the mines. Once they were evacuated, the shafts had been easy to burn, the fire feeding in a frenzy as it had its prize. Robin knew he could not do the same here, not unless he somehow managed to evacuate everyone first. And the Turk Flu would not hold reason here. He would have to find another way.

It was on the third day he was given his weapons back, and posted at the end of the perimeter to the west side. Dax went about to attend other business, but Robin was placed under the charge of another sentry like himself. The man, carrying the name of Bren, was a quiet, cross individual, and seemed almost angry to the fact he had to watch the other, but still share the same pay. Robin kept to himself in this time, exchanging words on a need-to-know basis only. It wasn't until during the hours of late, when supper was held in a common room, that Robin allowed himself to open up some, picking out a few men in which he foresaw a possible companionship.

The first was Latimer, the second, a man called Mercer. They were, as Robin understood it, Alfred's favorites. There was the smallest thought that told him that if he could gain favor with them, he might be able to establish his position better. When it came down to everything, having connections made all the difference.

"It would serve you better to keep your nose where it belongs."

It was Aston who had made the comment the night Robin first asked after them. He was one of the three men Robin had been rooming with, and they had taken to a table in one corner of the room. Bren had not accompanied him today, having not shown up at all. Instead it was Aston that had found him, and had kept him company. There were free days granted to all of the working men, and the harder you worked, the more days you got in return. In another few, Robin would have his first since coming here. Already he had plans made, wanting to scout out more of the area. He could only wander so far while on duty, and after the sun had set, it would draw too much suspicion to start poking around.

"I would just prefer a change of pace," Robin answered mildly, bringing the cup to his lips. There was no want for food or drink here. Whatever one demanded could be found quite easily, and no one went away hungry. It was more than what the miners were fed, he knew. He had managed a glimpse at the shares that were set aside for them. While it was enough to sustain an army, it was a bland palate, and always the same. A strange concept, considering it was they who worked the hardest.

"Consider yourself lucky," Aston continued, finishing what was on his plate. "You could be one of them."

Robin followed his gaze, spying the group that feasted together, a group of six or seven men. He did not know them by name, but he had heard enough of this place since coming to know who they were. The head guards, the ones who were in charge of the miners below. They were responsible for the different lots, in charge of making sure the coal was mined, and that it reached the surface without delay.

"They are richer," Robin commented monotonously. Money was of no concern to him. But as long as the others did not know that, it was in his favor. He could argue his position better this way, secure a better hold without the truth being known.

"Of course they are; but they spend their days underground. At least we get to breathe the open air."

"And it is tiresome," he complained, pretending to be bothered by the fact. He was anxious to go below. In the time he had been here, Robin had made little to virtually no progress. If it carried on like this for much longer, he knew he would have leave, and resort to his other plan. It was far more dangerous, but he could not stay here forever. Not while Much was this close.

"And what do you want with going down there?" Aston wondered. "It is miserable, mark my words."

"Certainly better than staring at the woods all day. Why is there a need for such security, when nothing ever happens?"

"Alfred is paranoid," Aston shrugged his shoulders as if it were no secret. "Doesn't matter why, as long as we are paid. This is a far easier trade than that of the others, mark my words. The village of Sherwell just to the south has peasants slaving and toiling under the hot sun just to make ends meet, and even then they tend to go hungry. At least we here lounge out in the open, and feed ourselves with the finest shares the village have to offer, and we have decent enough beds to sleep in at night. Not to mention the women," he added with a laugh, his gaze trailing to where one of the serving maids were.

There were plenty here; all paid just as well. Relationships, something that was very loosely defined, ran rampant here. None of the men here were married, and none had children, yet all seemed at peace with that fact. And why should they not? They had food, shelter, and plenty of warm bodies to choose from. Still, Robin found himself frowning. How they could ever be at peace while knowing what went on just below was unnerving. He allowed himself one simple sigh, finishing up the mead in his cup, and excused himself.

The hour was not terribly late, but he could not stand to be there for much longer. Talk disturbed him often enough, and Robin found himself unable to enjoy the same pleasantries of the men about him. And he could think better in the silence, unburdened by the lack of company within his shared room. His path, as always, took him across the largest room in the manor, the one occupied by Alfred and the finest luxuries known to man. Aston had told him a story a few days back, of how a guard had tried to make away with some of the wines and furs found just inside. It hadn't been a pleasant one to hear, and it was said that since that incident, no one had tried to do the same. Robin could not blame them.

Something had him pause, however, as he was passing by. He did not know enough about Alfred's habits to know whether or not the man should be sleeping at this hour; some claimed the man never did, others simply shrugged their shoulders. Whatever the case, Robin had a feeling that this meeting had not been planned. The voices were raised, not so much that it was a clamor that was taking place, but it was easy to tell neither party was happy. Voices inside indicated there were only two; one he recognized as Alfred, the other he could not place. It was his who he first picked out.

"I don't care how it is done. Right now I don't have the resources to keep things up. None of the other groups are managed by just one man, why do you expect the same from me?"

He was intrigued now, taking a step closer to the door. It was ajar, only just, so he could not see into the room, and match a face to the voice he was hearing now. The man was upset, irritation set deeply in his voice. Alfred's response however showed a lack of interest.

"Might I also remind you that your lot is also under production? The last month tally failed to meet quota, again."

"I also have the fewest workers. You can't expect few to do the work of many; they are working as well as they can. Most of the days they do not even take their schedule break, and go without food."

"Then we will have enough shares to go to the groups that do meet quota," Alfred responded indifferently. "And until things improve differently, Nathaniel, I expect you down there, doing your part. Need I remind you of our bargain?"

He could hear the other man sigh, a silence stretching between them. Robin was on edge, not having liked what he heard in particular. His thoughts drifted to Much, wondering if chance had it he was in this very group that was being discussed right now. For what the man had already gone through was enough, to have it be worse due to the simple fact Alfred did not care both worried and angered him.

"I need workers," the man, now dubbed as Nathaniel was speaking again, his words slower this time. "I need help; the last few men that came in were distributed elsewhere, despite the number that I lost. At the very least give me another guard."

"And who might that be?" Alfred scoffed. "With the last cave-in it seems as though we are short on offers to work below. Even more so for a lot that is under-production. They would be paid less than what they gain now, and have greater risk. I fear things won't change unless you turn profits around."

"Then take it from my pay," Nathaniel offered, insistence in his voice. This was a strange concept for Robin, for money seemed to be the driving force behind everything here at the manor. Why would the man willingly offer up his wage? Truly he was desperate. The thought made him smile. A desperate man was a man who made mistakes; a man who let down his guard. It was the beginning of a plan brewing inside of his mind.

"We can discuss that later. For now I have other matters that need my attention. I cannot sit here and listen to an incompetent guard whine about what is and is not fair."

There was a start to another argument, but it was ended quickly. Robin pulled away from the door, headed down the hall where he ducked around the corner. Nathaniel, the dejected guard, was not too far behind, but Robin held his stance where he was. It wasn't until the man was passing that Robin made a move, blocking his path. The other was startled, but he shook his head in frustration the next moment.

"Surely you have better things to do than to sneak up on others," he snapped irritably.

"I couldn't help but overhear what was being said," Robin nodded back down the hallway, disregarding the man's tone.

"So you eavesdrop, too? You enjoy inviting yourself where you don't belong."

"I think we can help one another."

Nathaniel paused at this, studying him. Robin had not revealed how much of the conversation he had overheard, but there really wasn't a need to explain. Even so, the man was reluctant.

"Why would you help me?"

"We share a common interest," he answered with a shrug. His tone was mild, as if they were simply discussing the weather of the day, or a trinket found at the local market. "You need help, I want to do something different."

"Don't be ridiculous," the man shook his head, frowning. "The mines are dangerous, and if you didn't manage to overhear, you'll make less profit. No one would trade for that."

"It might be low for now. But sooner or later things will pick up. Isn't that the whole point of your argument? Not to mention the favor I might gain with Alfred. I'm new here, and I fear unless I prove myself, I won't find any cause for advancement in my wage."

Perhaps he was pushing too hard. But Robin wanted this, he needed it. The opportunity was perfect beyond measure, another chance would not crop up like this. He could not stand by and wait forever, nor could he allow himself to risk a foolish chance that would get them all killed. If he could only manage to get inside, to find Much, then they had a chance.

"I can't see any harm by it," Nathaniel answered finally, having thought it over. "We'll need to speak with Alfred, but it would do us better if we waited until the morning. He is not in the most agreeable moods right now, and I suspect he'll turn down any offer just to spite me."

"I'm expected on the west perimeter in the morning," Robin explained. The sooner things happened, the better, but to miss his position would not earn him any recognition, and might even in fact give Alfred reason to turn him down.

"Then we will wait; meet me here after shift tomorrow. Tell no one in the meantime; rumors grow fast and Alfred does not tolerate them well."

That was an easy enough bargain. He let out a nod, showing that he understood, before parting ways. It was satisfying to know, that he was finally starting to get somewhere. With any lucky, by the time the next night fell, he would have access to the mines.

* * *

He had found himself short on words. These latest happenings where unnerving to say the least, and for the first time since securing his position as Sheriff of Nottingham, he found it under threat. True, there were instances where his authority had been challenged before, most notably by Robin Hood, but even his constant meddling seemed insignificant now. And unlike the outlaw, he did not know Chaffee's weakness.

Huntington was easy to manipulate; all he had to do was threaten some poor wretched soul and he was there, the knight in shining armor, the peasants' hero. The man would walk straight into a trap, turn himself in, and bow to every whim if it meant he could keep others safe. It was pathetic really, as much as it was infuriating due to the simple fact he always managed to free himself afterwards.

Chaffee, however, showed no similar interest. His first day at the castle had been spent to himself, aside from scrutinizing each and every prisoner within the dungeon and coming up with the perfect sentencing that seemed to suit them. Most of the ideas the sheriff enjoyed. They were not the usual punishments normally dolled out by him. Vaysey enjoyed the hangings, mostly due to Robin, of course. Taunting the man with failure was always a grand thing.

Chaffee preferred humiliation. The outlaws were placed, a few at a time, in the stocks that were built in the center of town. They would be rotated, dragged down the dungeons until it was their turn once more. For other, minor offenders, it was similar treatments. If none of the stocks were open, it was the giant birdcages, or bound to a simple post. One had even been lashed in the courtyard for stealing wine. It seemed Chaffee preferred the rich liquid as much as the sheriff did.

But even these glorious happenings had not been enough to bring him any cheer. It was all he could do to wonder, trying in vain to come up with some explanation on how this pompous man had gained such favor with the prince. Vaysey had once been the prince's man, had once been on good terms with him. Were they friends? Not so much, but colleagues, business partners…trusted allies. Now all that seemed to be nothing more than talk.

Prince John had sent him alone, unarmed, unprotected into the shire with a demand of changing things drastically. Guy of Gisborne had been his right-hand man, as had De Fortney, but the latter hadn't lasted for long. Gisborne had more sense in his head, as long as it was not muddled by that blasted leper. Her departure from Knighton had been perhaps the best thing that had happened to Gisborne. But the man had ruined himself by bringing her back.

Now there was only Chaffee, and it seemed as though the man was to stay. It could be…possible, to tolerate him in time. He had an efficient mind, already proven by the short time he was here. There were no lepers, no distractions that took him from business, which Vaysey had to admit he did enjoy. Yet what he could not stand was the man's haughty attitude. The sheer thinking that he was in charge, when he was only the Master-at-Arms. Vaysey could argue this fact, he knew, but he also knew that the conversation would end with the man waving the bit of parchment in front of his face.

He ground his teeth at the thought, wondering where he had gone wrong. With all that he had done in the past years it should be assumed that he would be just as protected. His position was not an easy one, and nowhere near safe. Vaysey had long ago lost count of the number of attempts on his life, how many people wished for him to be dead. New enemies were made each and every day, and nothing stopped them from trying to assassinate him aside from the fear of reprisal. But a dead man carried no such fear, and they were the most dangerous of all. It was a fact he had come to learn to live with.

These were the thoughts with him now, no matter how hard he tried to pretend that he was interested in what Chaffee was saying. They had, at the man's request, ridden for Locksley. The carriage in which he had first arrived in had been loaded once more, and had led the way while they had taken up the rear. Now that they were in the village, the Frenchman had taken to the center, addressing the people who stood by and watched.

There was a cold, prolonged silence, filled perhaps with fear and uncertainty. These people here had long been servants to Guy of Gisborne. The man had been in charge of the lands while Locksley was away at war, had been mostly a satisfactory lord, governing with an iron fist…or leather, as the man preferred. Robin had been home but a day before giving it all up with his exile into outlawry. So it was no wonder to see the shock on the faces of the peasants, watching as Chaffee all bid them well.

"Bonjour, people of Locksley; it is a pleasure to be here," Chaffee announced. The man was still on horseback, the animal mildly shifting its weight back and forth to where it stood. Vaysey could only roll his eyes, bemused by the words. It was as though the man was trying to communicate with people of intelligence. Vermin, the lot of them, most probably could not even understand what he was saying.

"I am your new master, and as such, ze first order of business is to grace zese lands with a proper name. Locksley, it will be no more, but rather De Chaffee, after your master's name. Difficult, I know, but we must try to remember it, yes? An outlaw does not own lands, zerefore he does not have claim to them."

Hood, for sure, would be displeased. But for the rest, Vaysey doubted they would even care. Their worries were elsewhere, more focused on feeding their families and paying taxes so that they did not find themselves thrown in the dungeons. Yet he said nothing on this, allowing Jacques to have his enlightenment. It would also be amusing to taunt Gisborne with the knowledge next time he happened by the man. He too had plans to change the village's name, but Marian's displeasure kept him from doing so. It was sad on how easy the man had been to manipulate.

"And to honor my first night here," Chaffee continued, pulling him from his thoughts, "zere shall be a feast held at ze manor at nightfall. Come, mon amis, we are all invited."

A feast? Vaysey found himself raising an eyebrow at that latest comment. Was this man really going to squander everything he had on measly peasants? They were already whispering, talking amongst themselves, perhaps just as dumbstruck as he was. Vaysey kicked his horse into a trot, catching up with Jacques as the man rode for the manor.

"Surely there are better things to do than feed these vermin," he pointed out mildly. Hood had done much of a similar thing, winning the approval of his serfs. To the point none refused to speak of his whereabouts after he had fled to the forest. It was despicable, and the very thought that Chaffee would somehow become something like the outlaw worried him.

"Ah, peace, good man," Jacques answered with a smile. "You catch ze vermin with baited traps, not empty ones. Now tell me, ze cooks here, zey are good, no?"

"I've never had the pleasure of dining here," he grumbled, wondering about the man's earlier comment. What would feeding anyone do other than make them gluttonous pigs?

"Well, we will remedy zat, won't we? My men, zey can cook. Zey can teach ze others how to prepare a fine meal. Maybe your own serfs can learn ze same, and ze food at ze castle won't be so…" he paused, as if searching for the perfect word, "banal."

There was a hint of mirth in his voice, and it grated on Vaysey's nerves. Without a doubt, the food he enjoyed at the castle was the best in Nottinghamshire. Rich wines, fine meat, and the most extensive selection of fruits one had ever seen. But Chaffee had scorned the meal the night before, had complained about lack of flavor, but more so about the uninvigorating display that was set on the table before them. Eating was about substance, about pleasure, not about art.

The carriage was already being unloaded, the fine adornments being whisked inside by Chaffee's servants. Two of them spoke briefly to the man in what he assumed was French, before hurrying inside to carry out whatever order had been given. It was still a wonder if Chaffee would take him up on his offer, and sell him a servant or two, if only for a short while. But the man hadn't been too keen on parting with his men. As was well, he decided as he dismounted. Men like those were hard to come by, and certainly if he had such, he would not part with them either.

He pulled his gloves from his hands as he entered the manor, a frown on his face as he took in the jumbled mess. Chaffee's adornments were being set in one corner, while Gisborne's possessions were carted down the stairs, and carried outside. Thornton, the head servant of the manor, was busying himself chasing the men about, demanding to know what exactly was going on. It gave him the briefest of smiles as he wondered how the man had handled Robin's departure.

"Milord Sheriff," the man breathed, coming to a stop as he saw him. "Please…Sir Guy will not be pleased-"

"Gisborne is no longer your master," he smirked, cutting the other off. Of course the man would be worried; Gisborne was known to have a fiery temper from time to time, and without doubt the blame for most things landed on his shoulders. He could see the servant relax somewhat, but there was still tension there. As there should be; a new master did not always mean good news.

"Ah, ze manor," Chaffee remarked as he joined them. The man turned a few times, taking in the humble abode before speaking once more. "It requires work, but it will do."

"I hope you find your stay…satisfactory," Vaysey nodded towards him. "Thornton here will make sure you are well taken care of, I am certain."

The servant gave a bit of a bow, eyes flickering between the pair. He gave the man only the briefest of smiles before turning back towards the Frenchmen. "Now that you are here, I will take my leave, return to Nottingham. Unless of course you desire something else from my company."

"You will not attend my feast?"

"I prefer my, what was it that you called it…banal feast, yes? And of course there is always the matter of business to attend to. Which reminds me, you will be at the castle tomorrow, I expect?"

"If you request it," the man answered with a blasé manner. To that Vaysey could only grin. For all that the man had inconvenienced him with this needless trip, he now had the pleasure to return the same favor. More amusing was the fact that Chaffee did not have the ability to turn down the offer; Prince John was expecting a full report by the end of the month, and for taxes to be in on time. Chaffee, he doubted, would not chance to ruin his reputation. And that meant that Vaysey had just gained back some of the control he had lost earlier this morning.

**TBC**


	19. Strange Meetings

**Many thanks to all those who reviewed; we move onto the next part. Thanks to _Kegel_ for the beta and her hand in this. You can blame her :P**

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**Chapter 19: Strange Meetings**

He hated doing this. Out of all the work there was, it was this chore of separating that was the most bothersome. Much was almost positive Garner had put him here on purpose. He deserved it, he supposed. Had he listened to Eleri, and done his work like he was supposed to, he would be back at the caves already. The others were probably enjoying their usual meal, having washed and cleaned, huddled around the small fire. And here he was, bent halfway over a pile, fingers clutching the bit of rock and coal.

It was hard to see exactly what he was doing, the tunnels growing dark. Luckily for him, the difference was easier to feel. Most of the time. With a frown he peered at the pile in his hands, as if it would somehow help. Then with a frustrated sigh he tossed it to one side, in another, growing pile. This was the work for the lowest of the low, the ones who were not all the way there anymore. Or, in cases like his, for those that enjoyed causing trouble.

Much would have never before thought that he would prefer mining. The work was hard, and tiring, but his body had acclimated to the work in time. It was the movement that kept him busy, that made the day go by quicker, and the constant companionship. Eleri…he missed Eleri.

It was coal this time, he was certain of that. The piece was thrown into the bucket at the side as he reached for another. There was still a lot left to go, and he had a feeling that even if he were to work all night, he would still not finish it. That meant he would have to come back another day, early again like he did this morning, and the one before that. What rested before him was a rubble of remains, a mixture of rock and coal forgotten from all of the tunnels during the day's work. Boys were sent through to collect the debris, and to bring it here. Alfred, it seemed, wanted none of the precious mineral to go to waste, and so had workers comb through it one final time to be sure.

It had been frustrating, to be almost done, only to have another bucket load be dropped at his feet. He wanted to yell at them, curse them, and hurl the rubble back in their direction. But none of this was their doing; they were only following orders like everyone else. No, as much as he hated to admit it, this was of his doing.

He had gotten off light; or so said the others. Eleri had not been the only one surprised to see him return so soon. Though he hardly spoke with the others in his group, they had welcomed him back, had even given him shares from their dinner to make up for the meal he had lost before. It was a strange, confusing feeling, to think of them as family. But the more he had thought about, the more he began to realize that they were in a sense. And if this was what the future promised for him, it was all he had.

He tossed the next bit into the bucket, moving to his feet. It was not yet full, but he was ready to move, even if it only meant a short walk. How much longer he was expected to stay here he was not sure, but until the guards came for him, he had no other choice but to keep working. Mildly he wondered if the others would save him any food, or if he would go without. The smile came to him as he remembered their earlier generosity, and figured that they would.

One hand was braced against the wall, following the tunnel as he turned. The cart was at the end, the very place he would empty the bucket at. Where the cart went from there Much couldn't be sure. Up, was the first direction that came to mind, and he wondered if it was all possible for one to hide in there, and wait to be carted up. It would not be the first time he had hidden in something small, or something on wheels…or something pulled by livestock. Much also knew he had taken to hiding in much smellier and fouler conditions. Taking to a coal cart seemed like an easy choice.

But no…they would expect that, he supposed. And exactly how long he would have to hide, that wasn't certain. The thought of being found was another reason why he had quickly forgotten the idea shortly after it entered his mind. He did not need to cause any more trouble, especially not now. He moved to dump the coal, lingering there for a moment to enjoy the respite from the work.

"Oi! What are you doing?!"

The shout caught him unawares, and he found himself stumbling to a stop. Had they seen him leave with only a half-filled bucket? Did they think he was merely stalling, refusing to work as he had done days before? Perhaps he should have waited. What could he say now?

He found his throat suddenly dry, his heart racing. Maybe he could just explain, maybe they would somehow understand. Or he could lie…no…he was terrible at lying. Then he would be in trouble for that as well. Much took in a breath, trying to keep his voice steady as he answered.

"Well…I…I…," he swallowed; this wasn't convincing at all. "You see, I…"

"Is that the best you can do? I thought I taught you better than that."

It was as though everything froze; his breath, his heart…even the blood that had momentarily been racing through his body. He _knew_ that voice.

"Robin!"

They had been in battle together; so Much had seen Robin move fast before. Still, it was a surprise to see just how quickly the man could react. It felt almost instantaneous, and he found himself pressed against the wall, Robin's hand still intertwined in his tunic, as they disappeared from sight. It was a dip in the wall, not a large one, but enough to shield them from any quick, curious glances. Robin's voice was low, fierce as he warned him.

"You're going to get us both in trouble doing that."

To that, Much didn't respond. Whether from fear, or disbelief, he wasn't certain. He could feel his heart beating again, the breaths filling his chest. For a moment he feared it was a dream, feeling as though if he tried to believe it, he would find himself waking to disappointment. It would not be the first time. But the next moment Robin turned to him, and he could see for himself that it was not.

Robin, like he, had most of his face concealed. Only his eyes shown through in the dim light, and had Much not heard him speak, he wouldn't have even taken a second look. He wouldn't have even been able to tell that it had been him. It was a curious thought that entered his mind, and he couldn't help but ask.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I didn't," Robin answered with a shrug. It was a gesture Much knew well. He could see the mirth behind the man's eyes, and couldn't help but smile a little himself. Robin always seemed to crave the danger. And though that look often worried him, it hardly seemed to faze him now.

"I'm glad it was," the man continued softly, his eyes never leaving him. "You are not an easy man to find."

"I had hoped you'd come." There was nothing but truth and sincerity behind his words, so it was a surprise to hear the other laugh.

"Well, I wasn't about to let you have all the fun," the man jested.

"I wouldn't exactly call _this _fun," Much retorted, the bitterness obvious in his voice. With all he had gone through, for how long he had been down here, and Robin was treating it as though it was a joke. As if it was something that had been planned. The thought was painful, mixing with the anger he already felt. How long had the man known he was here, and yet had done nothing about it? It would not be the first time Robin found amusement from his misfortune. How was this any different?

Nothing had been said in response, and the silence was uncomfortable. So many nights he had dreamt of what he would say, of what would happen if…no, _when, _Robin came. Now his mind was empty, all the words forgotten, and Much was unsure if they were comforting words, or angry ones. Robin's carefree demeanor suggested the latter, and he couldn't help feeling bitter.

He flinched at the touch, his mind having wandered, but he didn't resist as the cloth was pulled from his face. Robin's hand was cold against his skin, fingers brushing against the beard that had grown for far too long. It was just another reminder on exactly how much time had passed.

"I should go," he pulled away without any further explanation. He needed time to think. Besides, if he was gone for too long, the guards would notice. And then he would be in even more trouble. That was not something he wanted. What he wanted right now was to be back with the others, to have some food, and curl up near the fire and get some sleep before having to come back here again. He had decided that a day's work in the mines wasn't all that bad in comparison to this, and he didn't want to take a risk in ruining his chances of being able to simply mine. Robin might be fine prancing around as a guard, but that was not something he could do.

"Much," Robin called after him, perhaps as loud as the man dared, but Much was relieved when he didn't try to stop him. He fixed the cloth about his face, collecting the bucket that had been forgotten, and headed back down the tunnel, not pausing to even look back. If he happened to do so, he might be inclined to stay, and surely that would only bring about more trouble in the end.

* * *

When Prince John had installed him here as sheriff all those years ago, there never really had been a set plan. Of course Vaysey knew that the prince wanted the throne, and the king's departure overseas had given him the perfect opportunity to step up to that responsibility. Vaysey assumed that the prince was merely waiting for the inevitable, for the war to claim the life of his brother. But it turned out he wasn't only relying on fate to do the dirty work.

Guy of Gisborne had been by his side for many years. Vaysey had known the prince for quite a time, and could clearly remember the day the man came stumbling in, blabbering about one mundane thing or another. Guy of Gisborne…and yet there was no Gisborne for the man to call home. They did have land once, years before when Guy was but a child. But through circumstances it had been lost, reclaimed by another, and now no longer existed. And he was desperate for land, for the recognition that came with it.

So when the call came to do the unthinkable, Guy had accepted. There had been some hesitation, something that Vaysey had questioned back then, but the man had agreed quietly. The next day he had received word that the man had fallen ill, a grave contagion. A shame, really it was, to be without the pathetic excuse of a man for the next following months. A worse shame when he returned with news of his failure. He hadn't even managed to blemish royal flesh.

But the effort was amusing. The look on Guy's face a few months later when Huntington had waltzed in, home from the war. Gisborne had acted as though he saw a ghost, to which Vaysey learned later that instead of going for the king, Guy had taken his vengeance out on Locksley. What a favor he would have done them all had he managed to kill Hood back then.

Vaysey hadn't understood Guy's reasoning then. Locksley was but one man, and Gisborne had the current claim on the land. Yes, Hood was the lord there, but in his absence the lands had been given to Gisborne. The man had pledged something about technicalities, and had simply handed the lands back. One would have thought that after trying to commit high treason that simple matters of the law no longer applied. Of course, that had been then.

Vaysey had been quick in discovering Gisborne's reluctance to challenge Locksley. Had Robin remained by the law there was a fair chance that Guy would have remained sniveling by his side. But upon becoming an outlaw, Gisborne was a changed man. He had grown a spine, had stood up to the Hood. It was a real shame the man could not do the same in regards to the leper. Not that it mattered, Vaysey reasoned, seeing that Jacques was here to fill his void.

Though the letter bothered him, he couldn't quite say outright that he disliked the man. There were a few…or perhaps more than a few, quirks that irritated him. But then that was true of most everyone, and so he took it in stride. What was more important was seeing the prince's plan through, and once that was accomplished, the Frenchman could run back to his master, and leave him in peace. And for all his hard work, he would have greater power.

Gisborne's failure to kill the king did not go unnoticed. Another assassin was sent across seas, but came back with only more reports of failure. The guard about the king had been heightened, and any chance of attack was always thwarted. The assassin had been disposed of; no need for him to be going about spreading more rumors. But the prince had sent someone else, or so Vaysey had heard. Not an assassin this time, but rather a warrior. A man who could gain the trust of the king, and send back word on regular intervals. This, the prince had promised him, would help plot the necessary details in securing the throne.

In the meantime, preparations were needed. There were still many nobles in the shires of England that were loyal to the king. Good little subjects that paid their dues, and upheld the law and order and were just and fair. All that sickening stuff. One by one the prince had been winning their favor. Either through the promise of money, or simply disposing of them, and replacing them with those who were swayed by trinkets. That money still needed to be raised. The very importance of the tax collections.

This was where the sheriff had gotten into trouble before. The money would be collected, only to be stolen by Hood. It was then passed around to the peasants, it was once again collected…and stolen yet another time. None of the money had managed to make it out of the shire, and so the sum which was being collected had fallen drastically.

The largest of problems had already been taken care of. Hood's men were tucked safely away, and there had been no sight of the remaining outlaw for some time now. The first shipment of taxes had reportedly made it intact, which had set Vaysey in a good mood. But it hadn't lasted long. So far behind was Nottinghamshire on its share of the money owed that drastic changes needed to happen. And the sum being requested was large; far larger than what had ever been taxed before.

Vaysey was not a bleeding-heart, he did not care if peasants could not afford to pay and eat, but what worried him now was the thought that they _might_ not be able to pay anything. And if they could not pay, it wasn't difficult to imagine what would happen as a result. He could squeeze them dry of every last shilling they had, but once exhausted, where would they go from there?

The market was doing better than it had been before. And as nerve-grinding as it was, Vaysey's thoughts drifted back to what Hood had said that day long ago. With the flourish of the market there would be trade, and with trade, there would come more money. If the wretched sods could not afford to buy anything, then merchants would start to pass Nottingham by altogether, taking their coins with them. And without their toll, that was yet another loss to be tallied. Jacques, as it seemed, had a different opinion.

"It will be a loss, of course," the man shrugged his shoulders, hand waving in the air as he spoke, "but it will be a minor one. If zey come, yes, a little money. But how much more zey take away?"

"Then what is your proposition?" Vaysey growled irritably. It was growing tiresome to hear each and every idea shot down.

"Ze peasants need not to buy anything, only earn. Zey can pay taxes zen."

How brilliant. "If they do not spend, as you say, how can they earn?"

"Ze other shires are doing well, last I hear. Ze peasants work for zem, earn ze money, and zen we take it."

"Would that not invoke additional fees?" Had the man really not thought this plan over? This was not the way to earn money. Instead they would find themselves in greater debt.

"John will oversee zat," Chaffee replied with a grin.

Another personal favor, did it never end? Vaysey pushed it from his mind. There were other, more important thoughts. "And where do they get their food?"

It was an odd topic to bring up, that was for sure. Robin was the one who enjoyed supplying the poor with food. He truly couldn't care less about one or two suffering peasants, or even a village. But stop feeding an entire shire, and then there wouldn't be anyone left to tax.

"Ze lords will be expected to provide for zem. Men who work and trade with livestock, grains and goods will work for ze lord, and ze people must go to him if zey want to eat. Zey will pay what is due, or zey will go without. Whatever goods are leftover can be sold for additional money."

Vaysey wasn't sure. As far as he was concerned, his idea seemed less complicated. But that was one thing he tended to notice about Chaffee. The more difficult the proposition, the better the man liked it. And if Vaysey questioned it, the prince was brought into the matter. How good of a communication the two had he didn't know. So he smiled, raising an eyebrow as if to acknowledge him. The plan seemed as though it might work. And if it failed, it would only make the Frenchman look bad. What could be lost in that arrangement?

"So, what is our first order of business then?"

"Ze Council of Nobles takes place in two days. We will discuss it zen, have ze lords agree, and secure our assets first. Zen we will appoint ze work to ze peasants, collect our dues, and go from there."

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He was quite familiar with this place. His antics had landed him in here more than once in the past, and now it felt as though it would be his permanent resting place. Back then, when Edward had been the sheriff, it would last a few days before he found himself free. Even when the new sheriff took over, Allan had suffered only minor complications. But now that he was an outlaw…

He shook his head, letting out a sigh as he leaned his head against the wall. Not just any outlaw, but one of Robin's men. A price far higher than what he had ever paid before. He could hear the rats scurrying, their efforts echoing through the chamber. It was night again, and still there was no sign of the others.

Gisborne, he didn't miss. The man wasn't the best of company, and he was quite taxing on the ears. Not to mention on how unnatural it felt to have the sheriff's right-hand-man locked in the same cell as he. Consorting with the enemy, that was what it was. Something they shouldn't have done.

John was also missing. When the jailer had opened their cell the morning before, there had been another struggle. An attempt to get free. Gisborne had been pulled out first, the door slammed shut until the man was well out of view. The sheriff calling for his puppy, no doubt. And then the door had opened again. John had been the closest to the exit, and so had been easily taken. Or maybe not so easily. Twice as many guards had been needed, John fighting with every bit of strength he had. But the man had disappeared like Gisborne before, and now as they drew into the second night, Allan was beginning to fear they would never see him again. And the question on his mind now was who was next.

It was times like these he was seriously regretting his choice to follow Robin. Sure, the man had saved him, but he had saved Robin, too. Well, sort of, but it was the thought that counted. He didn't owe the man any favors, and certainly had no reason to stay by his side. Yet he had done so, and where had it gotten him? Funny thing was, Robin was nowhere to be seen.

Were they supposed to pay for the man's deeds? The only reason they had come in the first place was because of Marian. He knew that the other would argue, would continue to do so until they were red in the face, but what favor did they owe to her? She was not the first person to find herself behind bars, and it was no secret that she was far more guilty than most of the people that ended up dead in the gallows the next day.

Allan knew they hadn't come for her. They had come because of Robin, because it was what Robin would have done. He still didn't understand the concept of all of them dying for one person. Every man for himself; that was what he had been taught. He and his brother, Tom, had long lived with such a life. Of course, what was to be expected with no parents and an uncle that would rather see you dead than throw you a bit of bread? When the two of them learned how easy it was swindle, the thought of honest trade had never entered their minds.

Perhaps it would have done well to enter Tom's mind. The theft still angered him, having discovered everything gone on that morning he woke. Even his brother's death hadn't done much to quell the anger. There was guilt, too. It had been his insistence that convinced Robin to take his brother and friends in. And because they had proclaimed their alliance with Robin, they had been hanged. Yet one more thing that Robin was responsible for.

There was another sigh. That had not been Robin's fault. The thoughts were driven by anger, by distress from his current situation. And Allan had a funny feeling that if they were ever to get out of here, that he might find himself another trade. Not that he didn't have a home with Robin and the others, but rather because it brought too much risk. There were easier ways of making a living. He would have to leave Nottingham, that was for sure. He didn't have enough luck to spare him from being caught again, and recognized. One of Robin's men then or not, it wouldn't matter. They would hang him either way.

But in another shire, where he had no name, no mark, it would be easy. More so if the sheriff was a kind, fair man who understood his plight. A few days in the dungeon he could handle. Death by hanging, not so much. Yet he doubted that any of them would just be able to walk away from here as though nothing had happened. What fate awaited them above ground was unknown. And the more time that passed without word, it only caused his worry to heighten.

Allan wasn't sure if he ever wanted to find out. He glanced to his one companion, Will, who sat on the other side of the cell. There had not been a lot of talk between them, or the women who were just across from them. True, there was not a lot they could risk in saying, not with the jailer always lingering about. Not that it mattered, he figured. How long would Marian keep up the guise that she knew nothing? It was a laughable matter. She was in no better position than they were, and besides, surely the fact they had tried to set her free proved she had been working with them.

Funny, the way things worked out. She had been insistent to come here, to stay at the castle. Robin had tried to talk her out of it…after things were all said and done with his loony business that was. How Robin had ever believed he had been working for the sheriff was beyond him. Djaq had sat with him one evening, had tried to explain it. But it was a lot of this, and a bit of that, all sorts of words he didn't know and explanations that just didn't make sense.

She had finally given up, muttering something about the man being sick and left it at that. If she had been talking about Robin, or him, Allan hadn't figured out. He was tempted to ask, but he had figured that the subject was better left alone upon seeing her angry scowl. Not that it mattered here anymore. He supposed he would be more help if he actually put his thoughts towards something useful.

The others were quiet for more than one reason. They were plotting; Robin was not the only one with ideas, he knew. But he certainly had a knack for thinking in a pinch. So far, the others had yet to come up with anything, other than the obvious 'storm the jailer' when the door opened. They had tried that, had failed, and Allan had ended up with a bloody nose for his efforts. Will had yelled at him later for even bringing that part up. And for bringing up the fact that they were all dead men. He couldn't help but point the fact out; it wasn't easy trying to ignore something that big.

So he had been quiet, had let them do all of their thinking. And no one had anything to show for it. But they, he figured, were thinking too complicated. Trying to be the hero, and get everyone out. What about just getting one man out? Wouldn't that be the easiest? A single man could slip through guards far easier than an entire group. But that would not happen. Somehow it had been decided that they would all go free, or no one would.

He wasn't being funny, but he did not plan on dying for all of their sakes.

**TBC**


	20. Different Plans

**Thanks for all that reviewed, and for Kegel for her beta :) **

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**Chapter 20: Different Plans**

Things had not gone according to plan. Not to say there really had been one in the first place, but if there had been one, then it was failing extraordinarily. He had found the man, yes, but hadn't gotten a chance to explain himself. And he couldn't risk being discovered where he was, and so had no choice but to leave, despite how much he wanted to follow. They would meet again, he knew, but at least Much knew that he was here. Robin knew that should give him some hope, but something seemed wrong.

The man's reaction was worrisome, the lack of emotion, as though he was a different person altogether. Robin had chastised himself shortly after, knowing that he was taking things too seriously. There would be time for revelations later, for now, he had to focus on what he was to do. Right now that consisted of finding his way back, another task in which he was failing miserably.

It wasn't the first wrong turn he had taken. Curse these mines, they were as much a maze as anything else. Too dark to really see anything, and no markers to know if he had been here before, Robin found himself at another dead end. Perhaps wandering off had not been the best of ideas; but the chance had been too enticing.

It was after a brief argument on Nathaniel's part that Alfred had permitted Robin access to the mines, given understanding he was to not get any higher wage. To that Robin hadn't argued, eager instead at the prospect of finally being able to find Much. The following day he had been given a set of clothes, and had followed the man down into the darkness. Somewhere on the rounds he had managed to fall behind; perhaps not wholly by accident. Neither was the fact he had gone to his right, when Nathaniel had turned left.

Robin was beginning to wonder how he had even managed to find his way before. By now he had seen so many tunnels he could not say which was new, and which one was old. This left him lost, completely clueless as to which way he had to take, and the hour was starting to draw late. What a fine way to end his first day. With a sigh he turned again, this time to his right, and followed the tunnel. He would have to find his way out sooner or later. And if he was gone for too long, there was the thought that someone would be sent to find him. Or so he hoped; but the thought was there, the curiosity of how many others had somehow become lost down here, and left to their demise. It seemed possible…

The thought left, replaced with a bit of a smile as he heard the voices. Young ones, but voices none the less. They were easy to follow in the dark, their words echoing without hindrance. The two boys fell silent at his approach, heads ducked as they picked up their pace in working, their earlier words forgotten.

There was no one here who was spared from working. Not only were men forced to slave, but women, and children as well. When he had first found out about this truth, Robin couldn't help but think of the boy they had found back in Sherwood. And his curiosity had gotten the best of him.

When he had asked the reason why Alfred used children, Nathaniel's answer had been grim. Children, it seemed, were not only easier to get, but also to train. The boys could travel through most parts of the mines with ease. Where an adult had to mind his head or risk a nasty surprise, the children could race through. They could weave in and out of the workers with little problem, and their appearance above ground would cause no major alarm. If one of them happened to escape and speak to someone about what was happening, it would only be passed off as childish prattle.

It was maddening; mines were no place for any man, let alone children. They should be with their parents, learning a strong trade that would support their own family in due time. As long as they were here, they would never have that chance. For anyone to start a family here was not only difficult, but downright foolish. But it wouldn't last that way forever.

Robin would see to it that all of this would be changed. How, he wasn't yet certain, but for now he could benefit from the situation. There were a few glances his way, even more so when he drew near them. From the looks in their faces he could only wonder what sort of treatment they received. It was said that Alfred wanted strong workers, the sole reason abuse was not tolerated, but he wondered if that applied to the younger ones as well. He pushed the thought from his mind as he knelt, making it so that he would not be towering over them, crouching just a few feet away.

"We are working hard, sir," the first boy spat out, perhaps a little too hurriedly. The fear in his voice was obvious.

"I can see that," Robin answered in return, keeping his voice light. "You're down here awfully late."

"We are expected to," the boy explained, eyes darting from his companion to where Robin sat. He also searched the surrounding area, as if trying to see if someone else was listening in. The comment frustrated him; they could not be any more than a span of ten years, and yet had responsibilities that not even most grown men would willingly accept. He let the anger pass, knowing that if he showed any now, it would only be misinterpreted.

"I see," he nodded to the pair. Then an idea struck him, and casually he reached under his jerkin, pulling free a neatly wrapped bundled. He held it out towards the two, waiting for them to take it.

"I was not able to eat all of this," he told them quietly as the first boy reached for it. "I hope that maybe you can find something to do with it."

There was a bit of excitement between the two as they pulled back the cloth, splitting the bit of meat between them. No doubt they were fed just like the other workers, and clearly they were enjoying their new prize. Robin allowed himself a small smile, catching their attention once more.

"I actually was hoping that you could help me. It's my first time down here, and I seem to have lost my way. Surely a couple of smart lads like you could tell me what way I need to go?"

They were more than eager to help now, the earlier apprehension evaporated as they responded. Grimy fingers pointed in the same direction, a vocal tirade following as they explained the path he needed to follow. It was easy enough to remember, and he gave them quiet thanks before heading the direction he had been pointed. And only a handful of minutes later he found himself in the main tunnels. The workers were no longer here, but Nathaniel was.

"Where have you been?"

There was irritation in his voice, and Robin allowed himself a shrug to show that he had not intended any harm. "I got lost."

"That's why we stay together," the man responded. The irritation was still there, but it had dimmed somewhat, filled more with relief. He had been eager to get help earlier that day, but Robin's antics had taken him elsewhere. Now he felt a little guilty for it, but finding Much had definitely been worth it.

"I fell behind," he offered up as a weak explanation, "it's hard to see down here."

"It is," the man agreed quietly. "But I see you managed to find your way back. Good thing, too, I wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of looking for you."

So someone would have come; Robin gave him a nod to show his appreciation, before following the man out to the ladder that led above ground. The two guards there let them pass, new men who he had not seen before. Security here was tighter than back at Nottingham Castle. Rounds were changed often, it seemed, to alleviate boredom, to keep the men alert. This, he was certain, would create a problem with his future plans. Despite the fact he now had access to the mines, he would not be so free to come and go as he pleased. Somehow, he had to find a way around that issue.

The night air greeted him, fresh and cold, and Robin wasted little time in removing the obstructing cloth. While he knew what its purpose was, it did not make wearing it any easier. It made breathing difficult, and beads of sweat formed easily between the layer of cloth, making his skin clammy and itchy. He took the time to fold the cloth, to wipe his chin and clean the lingering debris from his beard.

"You're the one who wanted this, remember?" Nathaniel reminded him as they crossed the threshold. Robin gave him a wry grin as they made their way up the stairs.

"I'm not complaining."

"Impressive first day, if you ask me," the other continued. "You disappear shortly after getting down there, end up lost, and now, you're filthy."

Robin took in his appearance with mild interest. His wandering through the endless tunnels and caves had served to cake him with a fine layer of dust, the residue clinging to his hands and skin that had not been covered. He imagined the area about his eyes looked much the same, but he didn't give it much thought. Living in the forest had never exactly been a clean business, and Robin had come to learn how to live with a little dirt and grime.

"You can wash up over there," the man indicated with a wave of his hand to one corner of the room, "hang those up over there, you'll use them again in the morning. You won't get fresh ones for a few weeks, so you'll want to try and keep them as clean as possible. You think they're bad now, wait until you have a few pounds of grime weighing them down."

This had been one of the perks to moving up in the ranks. Instead of sharing a room with three others, there was just one. Alfred preferred to keep his lots together, something about promoting teamwork and communication. Robin figured it was based more on keeping costs down and keeping jealously from spreading amongst the men. Whatever the case, he wasn't one to complain. The room was larger, the beds softer, and they were provided with their own amenities.

As he turned to the wash bin, he allowed his thoughts to drift. A part of him had always thought that when he managed to find Much, a part of the heaviness he felt inside would lift. Instead it lingered there, perhaps heavier than before. Finding the man, alive and unharmed, had been more than what he could ask for. But the bitterness in his voice, the look in his eyes, they both held something that Robin could not explain.

What was more bothersome was the fact that Much had simply left. Usually it was a chore to try and get the man to leave him be, but this had been of Much's doing. It seemed almost as if it was what he wanted…and that was not like him.

Robin could only grasp at ideas, but he liked to think it was because they had both been tired. Much, for certain, was, Robin having obtained a short glance at what his required chore was. And for himself, it was more of an emotional drain. So long had his feelings been pent up, hidden away from the rest of the world, and even now he could not let loose. And it was a new type of worry that had began to settle in him, replacing his earlier fears that had concerned Much.

"Roy?"

The voice sounded urgent, concerned, and Robin turned quickly. Though he had been using the name, pronouncing himself so for the past few weeks now, it was difficult to learn to answer the first time he was called. Nathaniel was watching him curiously.

"Are you well?"

Robin forced a nod, then a smile to help make it convincing. "A little tired, I guess," he passed it off with an easy shrug.

"No surprise there, you've had an adventurous first day. Come and get some rest, we have an early morning. We'll have to try and work on the 'not getting lost' part."

It had been a jest, but even so Robin could hardly bring himself to smile. He pulled off the remaining cloths, hanging them by the others before making way to his bed. The candle was already out, the night greeting them as the room lay still. But even so, the man doubted he would manage to find any sleep tonight. Not with his mind racing as it was.

* * *

Robin was not the only one who wasn't sleeping. Despite how tired he was, Much had not even been able to think about bedding down. How long he had continued to work after the chance encounter he wasn't certain. But eventually the guards had come, and he had been escorted back to the cave. The fire was low, a meager plate of food saved for him, but the others were already fast asleep. Something that he should be doing as well, he knew. If only he could.

He sat where he was, watching the fire wither away like the night. Amidst the steady breaths of his sleeping companions was the occasional crackle and pop as the flames devoured the last bit of wood. Soon it would die completely, and Much would be left alone. Not completely alone, he reasoned. Robin was here.

This was what he had the most trouble in trying to figure out. Not only how the man had found him, but more so as to why he had come. There had once been a point where he had felt certain that Robin would come for him. But somewhere in all the days he had been down here, that certainty had withered away, much like the fire was doing before him now. There were questions in his head, instances which he could not ignore. Then there were the more logical answers that did not wound as terribly as the first thoughts had.

How _had _Robin found him here? He was miles away from Sherwood, a good number of feet underground, nothing more than a nameless face. No one had seen what had happened all that time ago, how he had been taken. Well, aside from the two men, Much reasoned, but they didn't really count. Much knew that he had left the others behind, an intentional maneuver in order to prepare for Robin's birthing day. All of that now seemed as though it happened ages ago, that it was nothing more than a fantasy he had once dreamed about.

But he knew it to be true. As well as he knew that Robin and the others could not have known what had happened to him. And yet Robin had simply shown up, with that infuriating tone in his voice, his snide…galling remarks. As though it was nothing more than a joke. It hurt…as much as it angered him. And still he could not help but think of what Eleri had said to him when he had first come. Had Robin known where he was simply because he _had_ known about it all along?

Robin, he knew, would not have sold him. The man wasn't like that; and besides, Much reasoned, Robin _had _made him a free man. Or so he had said that he was going to. Much wasn't certain if it had happened, or simply had been forgotten in the chaos that had followed. Robin certainly didn't treat him like a free man…

No, the tone that was held between them was still very much a master to a servant. Much supposed he didn't notice it simply because he had grown so used to hearing it. Yet now that he had the time he could easily scrutinize on how Robin addressed him, and then of course there were the things Robin expected of him. The cooking, mending, cleaning…all the responsibilities of a servant. None of which any of the others did.

Can't cook, they said. Can't sew, didn't know how. Didn't want to clean…someone had to clean. They weren't pigs living in slop. They were outlaws…yes…but that didn't mean they had to be filthy. And why did he always have to be the one to keep things organized? It wasn't always the physical work that set him apart from the others.

Often at times he was the center of a joke. No one took him seriously, and hardly anyone listened to what he had to say. No matter if it was important; they all decided that he was too _simple_ to have any input. Robin had once told him the same. Had told him he was only a simple man. A small man. Robin had later apologized, had said he didn't mean it.

But reason was with Much, that if Robin could say some things that he did not mean, then surely there were other things he said that he did not mean as well. That Robin said things only to keep him quiet, to get him to shut up. Yet he talked with the others, spoke with them about things that were consistently brushed away whenever Much tried. They had been close, once. When they had gone off to the war. They could talk about anything, and often did talk about a lot of everything. Those were good times.

Well, maybe not so good, he reasoned. But he and Robin had been together, had been friends. Or so he liked to think. On their return to England, things had changed. He had sought the company of others, spent his time trying to woo Marian, earning gratitude from the poor, the hungry, and shared jokes amongst the others back at camp. Much was often forgotten, left behind, or simply brushed off as a nuisance. Unless of course it was past the supper hour, then no one forgot him. And then it was often snide comments about taking so long, or jokes about what they were eating. And as soon as they had full bellies, it was as though he no longer existed. No one took time to notice him. They all noticed each other, however.

He had seen how often Will and Djaq looked at one another. Not just glances, but the same way Robin looked at Marian. It was easy to tell what they were thinking, and the one time he had stressed his thoughts about any woman, he had been ridiculed. Allan had laughed so hard that he had sprayed food over himself, had wanted to know what he knew about women. The others had laughed, too, Robin included, though at him or Allan he couldn't tell. Much liked to believe it had been because of Allan, the mess the man had made over himself. But that was because he was too ashamed to accept the other possibility.

There were women…most of them had laughed at his antics, at his approach. Robin was a charmer, could have any woman he wanted. They practically fell over themselves just to get near him. Often a times pushing Much out of the way to get to his master. There had only been one who had shown him any type of compassion; well, more than one now.

Eve had been the first; but their time had been short together. Much could not ask her to stay, could not let her risk her life, or that of her mother. But he thought about her often, or had, at least. Lately his thoughts had been replaced by another, by someone who was…closer.

Eleri had laughed at him, too. But she had also shown him compassion, had shown him that she cared. Had wanted to be with him, even when there were others who were surely better than he was. She knew of his hunger, of his thoughts, and even if she didn't always agree with them, she at least listened. And she had never called him simple, had never called him small. And he just didn't dream about her…he wanted to be _with _her.

He knew that it was a foolish thought. Robin would tell him so if he ever found out. But it was there all the same. He could not banish it anymore than he could the hunger from his stomach, or the pain in his chest. Robin wouldn't understand, couldn't possibly understand. The man had not been here, had not seen all that had happened. How could he know?

Robin would chide him, would want him to return, though Much couldn't help but think as to why. He didn't want to stay here, he couldn't imagine anyone that did, but at the same time he could not bring himself to leave Eleri behind. And what good would he do back at camp? It was now painfully clear to him that the others did not want him there. They probably only cared due to the simple fact that they were now having to cook their own meals. And probably horribly so; Much could remember the few times that Allan had attempted to cook. That had been one of the reasons why there had not been any complaints when Much started cooking all the meals. And perhaps that was the reason why Robin was even here.

Robin had told him many times to go away, to leave him be. Much of course had never believed it…or so he told himself now. What if Robin had been serious in all the words he said, and Much simply too ignorant to believe it otherwise? What if the only reason the man was here was because the others had grown tired of having nothing to eat? That no one else there could, or even wanted, to do the dirty work, the work of a servant?

Robin hadn't come because they were friends, Much thought bitterly. He had come because Much was his servant, and the simple fact that Robin was an outlaw made it difficult to find another. And now that the man was here, he would expect that Much return with him. He would give him that smile, use that coy voice, trick him into believing that everything was fine. And when they were back in Sherwood….things would go back to how they always were. The others might be nice to him for a time, until they were fed, and soon they would all be off on their own. Will and Djaq, Robin and Marian, Allan and John…who did that leave him with?

He turned at the first sounds, the guards coming in to rouse the workers. Morning had come a short time ago, briefly after the last bit of fire died away. A night of no sleep was not a horrible thing for him; he had done so before in the war at Robin's bidding. Had gone on to travel, even fight the next day. It was not pleasant, but it had been done. So the same could be done here.

"You're up early," Eleri was the first to comment, the smile on her face as she brushed her hair back with her fingers. It was tied deftly into a bun behind her head, fingers rubbing over her eyes as she sat. Soon here they would eat a small meal before they were to fully dress and head for the mines. He returned the brief smile with one of his own, not wanting to admit he had stayed up the full night burdened by thoughts.

As he watched her, he wondered what it would be like to live a real life. Not stuck down here in the mines, or constantly on the run in the forest. But somewhere, in a real house, it didn't even have to be a lodge like the one he was promised at Bonchurch. It didn't even have to be big; the both of them were small enough. He wouldn't mind cooking, not for her that was. For so long she had satisfied her appetite on bits of bread and grains that he could easily imagine her surprise when faced with a real meal.

They could find a nice place, somewhere, where he would not be recognized as an outlaw. He could even make a trade out of cooking, make some lovely meat pies and sell them. They wouldn't be rich, not like he would have been had he been a lord, but that really didn't matter, did it? Not as long as they had each other…and maybe, maybe they could even have a family some day.

It was a strange thought, for he had never contemplated having one before. But why couldn't he? Raise some sons, a daughter, teach them how to cook, maybe even how to fight so that they could defend themselves. And Eleri…he found himself blushing as he met her gaze. He hadn't realized that she was watching him, feeling foolish now for the thoughts having even entered his head. It was not just his decision, but hers as well. He couldn't expect her to stay just because he wanted her to, but Much hoped she would do so anyway. Of course they had to get out of here first, and that, he knew, would depend on Robin.

Obviously the man hadn't come all this way simply to check in on how he was fairing, no matter how uncouth he had been before. Even now he probably had a plan on how they were to escape. If Much could somehow convince Robin to take Eleri with them, then things would work out okay. Of course, he wouldn't tell Robin of his own plans, not until they were safely away. Robin would be angry, no doubt, unable to understand his rationalization. But the more he thought about it, the more he came to realize he didn't care.

It was a strange, almost forbidden thought that caught him as he was dressing. Eleri was still watching him, studying him, but holding her tongue as if afraid to interrupt him. Much was glad for that, unsure of how he would explain himself if she did happen to ask. How could he explain that the man who had been the center of almost his entire life, no longer seemed to make an impact on him? But even more so was the fact he could not admit to being wrong, admit that Eleri had been right all along.

Robin was like other masters, he supposed. Certainly not as cruel as Eleri had described, but was he really any different? As opposed to physical blows the man used sharp words, words that stung bitterly. And there had been other instances…ones which Much preferred not to think of. He had said that he hadn't held any of them against his former master. But was that because it was the truth, or rather because it was simply expected of him because he was a servant?

That he wasn't sure of, and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to know. It was easier sometimes, to not know the truth. But one thing he did know was the fact that they would get out of here. He and Eleri, that was. For the others…there was guilt in the fact that they would be left behind, but maybe, he reasoned, when the king returned, he could go to him, inform him of what was happening. Much had been in his private guard, only as a squire, yes, but there all the same. And as Robin's manservant, surely he would have a right to speak.

That would come in time, if it ever came, that was. For now he knew that Robin would find him again, given time, and when that did happen, Much had to find a way to convince him to rescue not just one, but two miners. Then he and Eleri could go their own way, and Robin could return to the others, feeling a little less guilty. That, he was sure, would be enough for Robin, the man who was always seeking appraisal from others.

Yes, to Much it seemed as though he had everything figured out. He could only hope that he held enough resolve to tell Robin so. It was easy to say now, but how would things change once he was face to face with the man one more time?

As the work of the day greeted him, Much couldn't help but feel a little bit proud of himself, knowing that for perhaps the first time, he had come up with a plan that was entirely of his own.


	21. Respite

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! And to Kegel for the beta :)**

**Enjoy**

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**Chapter 21: Respite**

His voice was quiet, but it echoed easily through the chamber, intermingling with the other sounds that filled the air; the steady drip of water somewhere towards the back, the flickering of the torch on the wall, the scurrying of the rats as they collected forgotten crumbs. He sat in a shallow puddle, not caring or bothering to move, finding the effort too bothersome, and pointless due to the fact there were was mildew and slime everywhere. Half of what could be seen could not be identified, and Guy of Gisborne would rather keep it that way.

Being down here was a drastic change from above. His head hurt, more from the lack of food and water rather than being pummeled by rotten food. And despite how dark and dreary it was, Gisborne considered it a much wanted alternative in comparison to what he had gone through before. There was pain in his neck, his back, legs and arms as well, a result of the crouched position he had been forced to endure. Even now he was not sure if he could fully move or support his weight, and had yet to move from where he had been thrown, save for edging himself up so he could lean against the cold wall.

In his place, as well as the other, large outlaw, two more had been taken. They too had tried to fight, to resist, and just like before, it had little effect. Marian had seen to him…asked after him was more like it, unable to reach him across the gap that separated him. He had tried to keep up his appearance, tried to suggest he was fine, but his voice was sore, his throat dry from the constant screams and yells that had been wrenched free with every bit of food that found its mark.

When the nightly meal came, Gisborne had been none to eager to snatch it all for himself. There was hardly enough for one man, let alone two, and it was through sheer guilt, and prompting on Marian's part, that he had left some for the other outlaw. It still sat where he left it, rats already poking about when they dared to come close. The other, a giant of a man, built like an ox and probably just as strong as one, had not moved like he. He sat opposite of Gisborne, head resting on knees. Asleep, Gisborne assumed, but he didn't dwell on it for too long.

"When we get out of here," he started again, pushing the thoughts from his mind. After all, there were better things to do than dwell on the state of an outlaw. "You and I, we can leave here, we can marry, find somewhere to stay."

"We do not know if we will leave here," Marian answered, her voice was just as quiet. Ever since he had suggested the idea, she had been unsure. Gisborne chose to assume that it was due to their current situation, having been here for days now, Marian yet longer even, and no idea on how they were to escape. The outlaws, who seemed as though they could walk through walls on an average day, proved utterly useless now, grasping for ideas that were not even within reach.

"We will get out of here," he pressed, eyes closing with a sigh. If Hood could find a way out of these situations, then so could he. He just needed more time, time that was not spent trapped at the mercy of the populace. How many times had he been down here, on the other side of these bars? Surely he would think of something, if given the time to do so.

"Even if we do, your duties are to the sheriff. What will you do about that? You cannot just leave."

"The sheriff is no longer my concern," he answered quickly. The betrayal still stung, and he let out a breath. "It seems as though I have been replaced. The sheriff was planning to do so for a time, he has acquired himself a new Master-at-Arms."

"You have been nothing but loyal to him," came the response after a strained silence. She wouldn't understand, she couldn't possibly. Politics were not meant for women, not even those as curious as Marian. His position was not one that was simply for title or status, it meant real power, and to have it stripped away was humiliating and degrading. For common outlaws to be strapped in stockades and be beaten was one thing, but for someone like him to undergo the same treatment, to be fed scraps like a mongrel, and housed with rats and vermin…

But she too, was in much the same position. Perhaps she did understand it a little more than what he gave her credit for. One of the reasons he liked her…no, loved her, was her diligence, her stubbornness. She was not just a pretty girl that let out a smile and flung her hair about her shoulder. If she had words she wasn't afraid for them to be heard, regardless of if it was customary for a woman to speak or not. More than once she had challenged the sheriff directly, an act, had it been done by anyone else, would result in consequences. Yes, her title, as daughter of the previous sheriff, and entitled to the lands of Knighton as the man's only child, gave her permission that others did not have. The thought gave him a new idea, one he didn't hesitate in suggesting.

"Perhaps your father would take us in, give us his blessing. We could live there, so you wouldn't have to be away from him." She'd like that, he knew. Marian had always cared deeply for her father, an attachment that Gisborne neither knew nor ever had. Family was something estranged to him, having lived most of his life without either parent. Yet he had come to understand that family was something important. Perhaps one day he too would be able to experience that emotion, that…attachment.

He was already a father; what was it that kitchen girl had called him? Seth? He had felt nothing for the child, had only agreed to take the baby to the abbey to silence the girl. What had happened had not been planned, it had only been a night of pleasure after a stressful day. Gisborne felt guilty for his actions now, wondering what Marian would think if she ever found out about that truth. True, the kitchen girl had meant nothing to him, but the child had still been his son. Did that prelude to what kind of father he would be once he and Marian had wed?

Hood, he knew, had found the child in the forest, and no doubt had seen it to safety. Curse the man, doing what Guy could not. The man was always the hero, always liked by the others. No one would throw food in that man's direction had he been captured. Save for the guards perhaps. Though Hood did not kill, it did not mean he was against harming others. More than one guard had paid with a concussion, lacerations, even some, an arrow that was well aimed. The thought caused him to smile, dampened only slightly by the coughs from the other outlaw.

"John?" the Saracen woman, housed with Marian, was the one speaking now. Not to him, Gisborne knew, but to the other, large man that shared his cell. There was no response, save for another few coughs.

"What is it?"

The concern in Marian's voice could be easily heard. Gisborne felt a stab of jealously, as well as curiosity. The tone suggested she actually cared for this man, but then it wasn't all that surprising. Marian had an irritating habit of caring for every measly peasant that drew breath. Still, he was envious in the fact that she showed just as much compassion to someone she didn't know as she did to him, the man she was to marry.

"Not good," the other woman whispered, but Guy could hear her easily enough. "Has he eaten?"

It took him a moment to realize that she had been speaking to him. He eyed the man, then the plate of food that was still where it was.

"No, and it doesn't look like he will be," he added, watching as a rat made off with a particularly large bit of dried bread. His stomach growled in protest at this, knowing that the food would have gone to far greater use had he just eaten it like he first planned.

"The water," the Saracen pressed, addressing him still. "He needs to drink."

And what did she expect him to do? "He can get it himself," Gisborne pointed out dryly. For heaven's sake, the man was still awake. Gisborne was just as sore and tired as he was, perhaps more so. The outlaws were used to a life like this, with little food and water, living in rank conditions. If anyone should receive any help or pity, it was him, not this bulky man who just happened to share the cell with him.

"He may be sick with fever. He needs to drink."

"And I'll get whatever he has if I get too close," Gisborne pointed out dryly. "Besides, it'll be a mercy if we let him die in peace. Better than going up there again," he thrust a finger in the air, indicating the town above. It would happen again, Gisborne knew. Another round in the stocks was not something to be looked forward to. Not only that, but if he was to try and find a way out of here, he needed his strength. He couldn't risk catching whatever it was the man had, and on the plus side, it would mean more food for him.

"Guy," Marian's voice was sharp, the same tone she used whenever she was displeased. "You can't just sit there and watch a man die."

Gisborne held his tongue, having wanted to point out that this was no man, but instead an outlaw. The only reason he couldn't bring himself to say so was the simple fact that he too was now an outlaw. He, by no means, considered himself in the same low ranks as these pitiful fools, but the law was still not on his side. He would be running from it, there was no question there, if he was lucky enough to get out of here that was.

"You're the only one who can help him," Marian continued, her tone changing from that sharp demanding one, to the soft pleading one. He could almost imagine her batting her eyes, taking on that girlish expression that he had fallen in love with so long ago. The one he always wanted to please. Marian was not the easiest woman to impress, and normally he jumped at any chance to do so. But did it really have to be this?

With a sigh he pushed himself to his knees, crawling rather than walking to the spot where the meal once had been. The cup was half-filled, the still water showing the crude dust and bits of debris that Gisborne would rather not think about. Carefully he picked it up, edging closer to where the other man sat, having not said a word since their return. Stopping a good few feet away, Gisborne thrust the cup out towards him.

"Here."

There was no way the man couldn't have heard him, but even so there was no sign shown that he had. Gisborne let out a scowl, but said nothing as Marian encouraged him to help. This was not something he was good at; he was no wet nurse, had never assisted anyone in anything other than a brisk walk to the dungeons or out to the gallows. Still he drew himself closer, balancing on one knee as he reached out a hand. A single finger poked the other on the shoulder, and finally drew a response. The outlaw lifted his head, meeting his gaze, a scowl on his own face.

"Leave me be," he wheezed, his voice sounding altogether not that great.

"You need to drink," the Saracen encouraged, her voice louder than it had been before. She addressed Gisborne next, giving out yet another order. "Is he warm?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Gisborne huffed, still holding the cup out.

"Touch him, his forehead, cheeks," the other instructed. "Tell me what you feel."

Touch him? Already he felt too close, holding his breath as much as he could, fearing that he if breathed too deeply he too would be stricken ill. And who would help him then? But Marian was encouraging him, and Gisborne reached out a hand. He cursed the next moment, bringing it back to his mouth. Teeth sunk into the end of the fingers of his leather glove, hand wriggling out of it in the next moment.

"Warm, even for me," he replied, his glove dropping to the floor. Not like it was much use down here anymore, he figured. Since he was there, already touching him, Gisborne figured it could do no further harm to do a little more. He brought the cup all the way to the man's lips, waiting until the other had grasped it between his own trembling fingers. A few sips were taken, then another, and the water was all gone. It had been enough to wet his throat more in likely, nowhere to what was needed for his situation.

Fever and sickness was nothing new in the dungeons. More than one prisoner had fallen to illness before having a chance to swing. Gisborne also knew that it could spread quickly, and pulled away at the thought. There was little he could do for the man, and no matter what Marian said, he did not enjoy the prospect of falling ill himself.

"John? Can you breathe easy? Does it hurt anywhere?" they were ignoring him now, which for Gisborne was fine by all means. He scooted back to the other corner of the cell, arms folded over his chest as he leaned his head back. Some medicines might help him, proper food, rest, staying warm and dry. None of which would be available to them.

"Tired," came the reply. "Just tired."

They were all tired, Gisborne thought miserably, but they weren't all dealing with sickness. He let out a sigh, voicing his own opinion. "If the sheriff wants to keep him alive for his own amusement, he may send someone down to see to him."

_Or at least get him out of here,_ Gisborne thought quietly. If only to keep the others alive for his pleasure. Perhaps he could point that fact out to the jailer when the man made his next round. As stupid as he was, the man might actually fall for the tale, pass word along to the sheriff. Just maybe, the man would be stupid enough to open the door, attempt to take care of the big man himself.

The thought was appealing, knowing that if it did happen, the jailer would be without the guards. He could take on one man himself, even more so one that was not trained in the ways of battle. He would have the keys then, could free Marian. The Saracen could tend to the outlaw while they slipped away. Everyone would be happy, no doubt, and hopefully the sheriff would be keener on chasing Hood's men rather than him and Marian.

Gisborne allowed himself a brief smile, trying to calculate the next time the man would come. He had to be ready, had to sound convincing. And inside he felt the smallest bit of pride swell, the simple fact that he had thought of a plan while the others had not. What would Hood say, he wondered, had the man known that fate of his beloved men now rested in the hands of their enemy?

* * *

He could feel his heart pounding, the blood pumping through his veins as his eyes narrowed. For a second his fingers trembled, fighting against the pull, and in the next moment, the arrow was free, flying. A resounding smack sounded through the air as it found its target, embedding itself deep into the wood, a half inch below the arrow above. Without pause Robin readied another arrow, sighting in on the same tree, another half inch below the previous.

There were better ways to use his time, Robin knew. But this was helping to ease his mind. Alleviating some of the stress that had worked its way so deeply into his muscles that his body ached. He hadn't slept well since seeing Much a few nights before. And with his duties as they were, Robin had not had anymore time to slip away. And today was his free day, in which he had no obligations. Despite his want to search for his friend, to resolve some matters that played so heavily on his mind, Robin knew that it would seem far too suspicious had he tried to go down there today.

There was little money he had, and so a trip to the local market seemed out of question, and was even less desirable. There were too many thoughts that occupied him for travel, and there was nothing which interested him as far as buying or trading was concerned. There was always the opportunity to search the grounds, but Robin could not even focus long enough to even start a search for something that might be somewhat useful. So archery it was, although it was doubtful that he needed any practice in honing his skills.

"Why are you shooting a tree?"

There was true curiosity found in the tone of the voice, and Robin turned, allowing himself a smile as he saw the boy there. It was by his voice, more than his looks, that he recognized him. He had been one of the boys who had helped him to find his way. He still stood, a bit away, as if uncertain as to what Robin's response would be.

"I am practicing," he answered simply, lowering his bow.

"Oh," the boy nodded, admitting his true thoughts shortly after, "the other guards, they like to shoot the animals. I thought maybe that was what you were trying to do, cause I've never seen anyone shoot a tree before."

"I only hunt when I need to eat," Robin explained. It was not the first time he had heard of men hunting for sport, and to him it made little sense. A prize deer, or boar, for certain was a good rush of adrenaline to take down, but the meat was always eaten afterwards. Not left to limp away, injured and withering in the forest as it died.

"My father says I'll learn how to do that one day, use a bow, I mean. And a sword…but not until I'm older."

"Your father?" This was a surprise. He had simply figured all the children here were orphans, or that they had been snatched away from their parents when they were not looking. None of the men he had worked with had spoken of any families, so the thought had never occurred to him.

"He's one of the guards," the boy explained quietly. "I'll be a guard one day; when I get older. He says I can be on the perimeter, so that way I won't have to go down into the mines at all."

Robin smiled, but inside he felt cold. The child spoke as though it would be a great honor, and all Robin could think of was the fact that the boy shouldn't even be here in the first place. Already he could see how pale the boy was, from the lack of sun, of having to work so long below the ground. There were smudges on his face, traces of the dust that clung to his skin to show what his true nature was.

"What is your name?"

The boy hesitated, and then figured perhaps it would not hurt to say. "Rhodri."

"That's Welsh, isn't it?" They were not too far from Wales, Robin knew, but at the same time it was surprising. Then he supposed it could mean nothing, for Welsh and English seemed to intermingle more often than not, and names were passed around from one generation to the other. Rhodri shrugged in response, but said nothing. Robin pursed his lips, moving to collect the earlier arrows he had fired.

"No work for you today either?"

Rhodri shook his head, "Though I get bored, with nothing really to do."

"There are other children, you could always start some sort of game," Robin suggested, hoping that at least they still had that one simple pleasure.

"We don't play much," he confessed, coming a few steps closer. "I'm almost eight now."

"Too old for games then?"

There was a shrug, a bit of a smile and Robin laughed. "Then you probably wouldn't want to play a game with me?"

"You're too old to play," Rhodri pointed out quickly, then blushed as Robin laughed. He had yet to hear anyone call him old, in fact, most of the time he was referred to as young, by others who had seen many more years than he. Yet to a child, Robin figured that he was indeed old.

"You're never too old for games," he encouraged the boy, passing his bow to his other hand. "We could have a contest, a game of skills, but of course you'd have to learn how to shoot first."

"Really?" Rhodri's answer was rushed, the excitement easily noted.

"Of course, I'll understand if you're too old for it-"

"No," the boy shook his head quickly, "I mean…if you really want to, I guess I will…"

Robin smiled, holding out the weapon to one side. Carefully, cautiously, Rhodri edged forward, hand reaching out for it. His fingers could close around the wood just barely, fingertips meeting his palm as he took it. Robin motioned him a step forward, hands resting on the boy's shoulder as he carefully set him up.

The first few times were without an arrow, showing Rhodri how to stand, and getting him accustomed to the feel of the pull of the string. He was quite strong for his age, attributed no doubt to the work he had done in the mines. In fact he could pull the string back further than what Robin had been able to do at his age with a simple, smaller bow. It was not as far as the boy could possibly pull it, his arm shaking with the effort to hold it where it was. Even had he been able to do it, it still would have not been drawn to full extension, his arm span simply too short.

Rhodri was attentive, a good listener, and equally surprised when Robin notched the first arrow for him. He helped him to steady the bow, taught him how to aim, and his first arrow shot through the air. It fell short of the tree he had been aiming for by a good few yards, the sour expression evident on his face, but Robin allowed himself to laugh.

"Not bad," he was already moving to pull out another arrow, handing it this time to the boy.

"I missed," Rhodri replied bitterly, attempting to restring the new arrow.

"You do not wish to know where my first arrow went," Robin encouraged him, fingers moving to help him ready once more. "It takes some practice, but it is worth it in the end."

The second attempt was better than the first, the next few just as good. Only one made it close to the tree, nicking the bottom and ricocheting off into some undergrowth. Robin knew it was time to stop then, Rhodri having difficulty on holding the bow still. There was a bit of protest from him, but Robin was quick in assuring him they would try more later. Even as tired as he was, Rhodri still raced him to the forest's edge, collecting the forgotten arrows and placing them back into the quiver.

"Had you your own bow, you would have done a lot better," Robin explained to him later.

They were sitting just inside the trees, Rhodri following despite his observations that coming here was an odd thing to do when a warm manor was but a few hundred feet away. Robin had simply explained that he wanted fresh air, not bothering to say he felt more at home here than inside.

"Do you think I could get my own?"

Robin hesitated before shaking his head. "I do not think Alfred would approve." Teaching the boy how to shoot was one thing, providing him with his own weaponry would no doubt garner ill looks. At the fallen expression Robin smiled, giving him some encouragement.

"Some day you'll have your own. Until then, you're welcome to use mine whenever we have the time."

This seemed to brighten his expression, but Rhodri was also glancing around at the fading light. "I should go, there is a curfew."

"Then go," Robin nodded towards him. He knew the boy did not want to leave, but Robin also knew that Rhodri would only find himself in more trouble should he try and stay. It would also soon be time for him to try and sleep. There was another early day for him in the morning, and Robin would need his strength. Tomorrow he would try and slip away, follow the mines again, and try to find Much. Somehow they had to figure out a way in which they could communicate longer than a few measly minutes.

With a sigh he pushed himself to his feet, taking the same path Rhodri had a few moments earlier. He passed through the open door, rounding the hall and coming to a stop as he almost ran into another. The man in front of him scowled, but then put on a smug grin as he stepped back.

"What are you, a nursemaid now?"

Robin ignored the jibe, moving to go around him, but the man blocked off his path.

"What I don't get is that you offer to go into the mines without any more pay, and then you play with the children. What are you up to?"

"Minding my own business," Robin answered, unamused. "As should you be doing."

"Nothing goes on here that I don't know about. Other than Alfred, I run this place, I hope you understand this."

Latimer held every pompous notion described by some of the other guards. He was taller, and bigger than Robin, though not by much. Sandy colored-hair, lined with dirt and grease adorned his face, coming to a stop just below his chin which jutted out at an odd angle. He had seen battle before, or perhaps experienced an unfortunate incident in the mine. Though that was not likely, from what he had heard, neither of Alfred's henchmen had set foot in the dastardly place.

"So I spent my time with a child," Robin shrugged his shoulders, the irritation clear in his voice. "Would you rather prefer I cause ruckus in here?" he tilted his head to the common room, which was overwrought with yells and boisterous laughter. The latest shipment of fresh ale had come in, and no one had wasted time in indulging.

Robin could see Latimer stiffen at his comment, his lips tight as he grumbled something out. His next words were clearer, the mocking tone easy to hear. "Perhaps we'll reduce you to the child's wage, have you work for your food and bed if you so like to spend time with them."

He was trying to provoke a response, but Robin would not allow him the satisfaction. Instead he let out a smile, taking on the same mocking tone. "I'm sure Master Alfred will listen to your request, as compelling as it is."

Favorite or no favorite, Robin could guess well enough that Alfred would be irritated to overhear such a petty request. There were more important things to worry about, and bringing up something such as this triviality would not be the best course of action for remaining in favor. At Latimer's sour expression, Robin knew he had been correct in that assumption. He gave the other a short bow, moving by him this time unhindered.

Even so he could feel the other man watching him, and he was careful to make the mental note to take more caution in his future endeavors. No doubt he would be watched closely, for a personal reason rather than anything real. Robin could not give the other man even the smallest of reasons to suspect him. It appeared that his mission to search the area would have to wait a little longer, until he was certain it was safe.

**TBC**


	22. Order of the Law

**Many thanks to all of those who reviewed, as well as for your patience. It's been busy and weather hasn't been kind as far as power issues are concerned. For those of you reading Condemnation, it will be updated here soon as well (hopefully)**

**Thanks to Kegel for the beta :D**

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**Chapter 22: Order of the Law**

He hadn't meant to oversleep. If you could even call it that; he was up the first time when the guards had come for them. And again when Eleri had tried to rouse him. But exhaustion had won over common sense and reasoning, and he had fallen asleep once more shortly after. It wasn't until he heard the angry voices that he was moving.

"Get the lazy sod up," one of the guards snapped, crossing the floor of the cave quickly. Much was pulling himself to his feet, trying to show that there was no reason to intervene. He could be out there with the others in only a few minutes, and he was already reaching for his cloths.

"I'll take care of this one," another man spoke, halting the first guard in his tracks. There seemed to be a bit of consideration on his part, knowing that the job was originally his, but at the same time not wanting to deal with it. The guard finally nodded, turning to leave the same way he had come.

"Five minutes; if he is not out there I will personally deal with you," the warning was clear, given to the other guard, but nothing was said in return. Much let out the bated breath he had been holding, shrugging into the rest of his garments.

"Thank you," he whispered, waiting until they were alone.

"We need to talk," Robin hardly acknowledge the gratitude. Instead he gathered the boots from the edge of the sleeping area, passing them off to him. Much took them without question, hurrying as well as he could. He wasn't certain how well the first guard would hold true to his promise, but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

"How?" he wondered in response to the man's previous statement. They obviously did not have the time now, and it wasn't as though he had the ability to just leave whenever he felt like it. He took the hand Robin offered, moving to his feet.

"I'll figure something out," came the muttered answer. "We cannot afford to meet like this, it is too suspicious."

Much wanted desperately to point out that it had been Robin who had come here, not the other way around. Yet he doubted the man would appreciate having that pointed out. He had that look on his face, the one where he was lost in thoughts, the one where he grew agitated if someone tried to intervene. Still, Much took a breath, taking the risk. They didn't have a lot of time, and he had an idea.

"There might be a way," he whispered, slowing his pace. "There is a cave-"

"We are in a cave," Robin cut him off sharply, the irritation clear in his voice.

"That is not what I meant." He was flustered, upset to how the man would not let him explain. This had caught Robin's attention, and quickly Much motioned over his shoulder. "A tunnel back there, it leads to another cave; it is empty, and there is more than one way in. I've seen it, near the top."

"It might work," Robin agreed, but it lacked conviction, as though he didn't wholly agree. Or maybe it was because he was distracted with other matters. Robin gave him a push to get him going, Much stumbling over his feet as he took the lead. While he knew that now was not the time to linger and debate any of this, he couldn't help but feel a little miffed at the treatment. Still he didn't slow his pace, didn't look back, not until he reached his shaft. By then, Robin was already gone, as though he had never been there in the first place. Where, and more importantly when he had disappeared, was a mystery to him.

Much could say nothing, grasping one of the picks and an empty bucket as he found a spot along the wall. From a distance he could see Eleri give him a glance, one he returned with a nod to let her know that all was well. After they had their break, most likely they would be able to find a spot near one another for the remainder of the day. They would be able to talk, and that always made the work go faster.

It had been hard, difficult so, to keep from telling her about Robin. About any of his plans. Even now he wasn't absolutely sure how he was to even tell Robin. It was a difficult decision, but he felt as though it was the right one. He knew that Eleri was suspicious. She knew that something was going on, but for each time she had asked, Much had managed a smile, and changed the discussion. That had been remarkably hard.

He was not good at keeping secrets; it was one of the things that Robin often grew agitated at him for. It wasn't that he couldn't keep a secret, only that he rather didn't have to do it. What good were they, unless you had someone you could tell? But Much knew that this was different, that he would have to wait for the right time before he could tell her. He hoped that time would come soon, because he was positively certain he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret for much longer.

* * *

He had doubled back after seeing Much off. Robin never had any intention of running into the man that morning. He simply had been doing what had been requested of him. They had been short a man in getting the workers up, and so he had agreed to help. The fact that Much was falling behind on the same day he had gone was mere coincidence. It had been a risk to speak out like he had, but he wouldn't simply stand by and watch things happen. While Alfred had made it clear no physical harm was to come to the miners, Robin wasn't certain how well everyone adhered to that code.

Now, he was taking yet another risk. The slave quarters were empty now, a barren cave filled with remainders of their tales of all that they endured. Worn blankets and tattered furs were bunched up in piles, pits bore charred wood where fires had recently burned, and empty buckets that were used for washing and drinking were stacked along one wall of the cavern. He could easily assume that the buckets were used for other matters as well.

Robin could feel the anger. These people here were by far the hardest workers, and they had the least to show for it. They were trapped, treated like animals, thrown a few measly scraps and pitiful rolls to sleep in for their efforts. Life in the forest, as difficult as it was, seemed like a luxury in comparison it this. And Much had endured each and every night for far too long now.

It was all he could do to force himself to keep walking, searching for the tunnel which Much had hurriedly pointed out to him. How much time he had exactly was a debatable question; Nathaniel would expect him soon enough, but wouldn't question his absence directly either.

Though Robin was supposed to be working with him, there were still others in higher command, and nothing could be done about that. He couldn't afford to stay here long, he knew. If he was caught, there was little he could say in explanation. So Robin was relieved when he found what he believed to be what Much had told him about. Relieved…then worried the next moment. It was quite small, making him uneasy, but he gathered up what courage he had, and worked his way through.

There were places that were even narrower inside. It felt at times as though he would find himself stuck, wedged between rock and ground that was so close he could feel the stone brushing against his back. So it was a relief when he finally reached the end. It was yet another small hole which he wriggled out of with some effort, and into the openness of the cave beyond. No wonder this place was often empty, the difficultly in getting here obvious.

His low whistle echoed through the air. It was too dark to see far, but what he could see told him that this place was large. He could see the edge of the cliff well enough, and Robin took care to stick to the wall. A single misstep could lead to unwanted results. This had to be to what Much was referring to, the doubt that there was another tunnel and cave hiding somewhere lingering in his mind. But where was the other entrance? What had Much said about it?

His eyes traced the shadows, cursing the lack of thinking on his part. It would have taken only mere minutes to grab a torch to light his way, but the thought hadn't even entered his mind having been in such a hurry. Now he was left here, fumbling in the dark, trying to figure this out.

There would not be enough time to make his way back to fetch one. Robin bit his lip as he continued to search, smiling to himself as he caught sight of the faint outline. Now he could understand what Much had been saying before.

"Well done, my friend, well done," he whispered. Carefully he took an arrow, tearing a piece of cloth from his head wrap. Tying it to the end of the arrow he notched it, pulling the string back as he aimed, hoping that this would work. The resounding thud that echoed moments after gave cause for him to smile. With any luck, this would help to guide him here back later.

Without another thought, he turned back to the tunnel. He suspected he was gone perhaps ten, maybe fifteen minutes at the most by the time he arrived back at the lot. With a nod, Robin took over, standing at the head of the group while Nathaniel made his way to the end, collecting tools for himself. Work had improved, and that was due to both of their hands.

It was not expected, or even heard of, for guards to mine, but there was little choice here. Robin had agreed to help as well, surprising Nathaniel when the subject was first breached. The man would not turn down such an offer however, and the two took turns in switching off for an hour at a time. It was enough to rest, to make sure the workers were keeping on task, before taking another shift. It was not a large difference, but a noticeable one. It was Nathaniel's hope that with the slight improvement they would be able to garner additional help.

While Robin did not want to see anyone else down here, he also knew that it would give him more time. And that it would make this burden easier on the others. The chore was difficult, making his hands ache, and his back stiff, but he could not bring himself to complain.

It wasn't until the mid-day break that Robin was able to find a chance at escape. Impressed by his efforts, Nathaniel hadn't questioned him when he asked to leave for a short time. Robin had first made his way to the main entrance, but shortly before he reached it, out of the sight of others, he turned to his left. He was trying to remember how the tunnels ran, tracing the map in his head to figure out what way he had to go. The slave quarters were deeper than the tunnels themselves, so the opening he had seen before had to open to one of the tunnels. One that was higher, no doubt.

He took his time, counting the steps, remembering exactly how many paces were needed before each turn. Some of these tunnels were no longer used, drained of their precious resource, or deemed too unstable to safely mine in. Robin took care in staying away from the walls, following the path as he ducked low to avoid jutting rocks. He was closer to the surface now, a fresh bit of wind having found a hole somewhere, and working its way through.

That was what caught his attention, the flicker in the distance, the sound of fabric flapping in the breeze. The arrow had ricocheted off the stone, burying itself into the thin layer of dirt that had compressed over many years. The opening itself was a few feet ahead, narrow at first, but opening as it drew closer to the cave. He crept through, pausing on the edge, ducking as a handful of bats took flight, startled by his sudden appearance. This, he knew, would work. Given some time so that he could learn the route, and slip by unseen, he would succeed. Now he only needed a way in which to inform Much of when to meet.

* * *

It was easy to see that Chaffee was busy. The line stretched from the manor, working its way through the village, made up of the peasants, young and old alike. Many had goods with them, trinkets wrapped up in bits of cloth, bundles of wood and straw bound tightly together, another man even supporting a full basket of animal hide. The children were darting in and out of the line, chasing one another, but quickly scampering back to their parents as he rode in.

Vaysey had not come alone, flanked by two guardsmen on horseback as they circled the village, coming to a stop in front of the manor. He gave the order for the pair to remain as he dismounted, pulling free his gloves as he took in the scene in front of him. It was easy to conclude this process had been going on for a time, judging by the worn looks on the peasant's faces. Vaysey let out a smile, turning then and sauntering into the manor.

There were more peasants in here, the line ending just inside the door. To the other end was a finely carved table, a chair which matched it, all of which was set up on a plush rug which covered the far corner of the room. That was not the only change. Sets of candles burned along the walls, mounted to fixtures or placed simply on the sills of the windows. Tapestries, ones of fine weave which Vaysey guessed had originated from France, or of that area, adorned the walls in between the dancing flames.

It made it almost unbearably bright, cheery…absolutely revolting. It appeared to be a fool's hovel, as opposed to a lord's manor. To this he smirked, painfully, making his way towards the other man. He would rather this sort of nonsense happened here, as opposed to the castle. It almost made him miss Gisborne and the man's leather. At least then this place had looked decent, had even probably appeared so when Locksley had been the lord of this manor. What would the man say now, if only he could see the place?

Huntington had been on his mind as of late. Not an uncommon occurrence, seeing how the man often presented himself as a pest. But this time it was due to the lack of presence, something the sheriff had not grown accustomed to since Hood's return. The outlaw, he knew, would not just disappear. Not while his men were captive, and his poor peasants treated in outlandish manners. So it had come to him, with subtle realization, that there could be only one solution. That Robin Hood, was dead.

Vaysey could accept this, the only disappointment being that he had not been able to cause or witness it first hand. Life in the forest, he suspected, was not as kind as the man had hoped it would be. Sickness, or perhaps a nasty fall could have done him in. Still, he liked to picture more…vivid, results. Like that of wild dogs getting a hold of him, tearing him limb to limb…oh yes, how pleasant of a thought that was.

"Not on ze rug."

The warning caught him off guard, bringing him to a halt and tearing him from his pleasurable thoughts. "Pardon?"

The man motioned with an irritant gesture to the rug on the floor, a vibrant red, trimmed in black with patterns of gold. "It is delicate," the man explained quietly. "No boot on ze rug."

It took Vaysey quite a long moment to comprehend what the man was suggesting exactly. He took a wary glance down at his boots, seeing the bits of earth that still clung to them, the damp impressions still fading on the wood behind him from where he had first walked. One of the servants passed by, and he could see that even they were without shoes, treading on the floor carefully until they reached the rug. A carafe of wine was placed on the desk, slid to the center with a few goblets, the maid hurrying away just as soon as she could.

The sheriff let out a frown, then a sigh as he kicked his boots free, snapping fingers to motion for one of the servants to take care of them. Moments later he found himself seated near Chaffee's right, a fresh goblet of wine in one hand, deliciously warm bread in the other as he took in the spectacle in front of him.

He was an older man, with grey locks, a bit of limp in his step as he came forward. A basket was passed off to one of the attending guards, keeping the man from treading on the rug. It was placed on the desk, the fabric pulled back to reveal a satchel of coins, and a few bundles of wool that were tightly spun.

"Ze taxes are zere?"

"Yes, my lord," the guard nodded, opening the bag to show the collection of fine coins. The hand moved next to pick up one of the bundles, passing it to Chaffee who studied it with some interest.

"Tell me again, you have how many sheep?"

"Seven," the man responded quietly. "My wife and I lost three in the last winter, and there were no lambs this spring."

Vaysey waved his hand impatiently, tired of all the excuses. He heard this sort of thing often, one measly explanation or another and it grew sickening after a while. The man stammered, his word trailing off and Chaffee shot an unamused glance Vaysey's way.

"Is zis all ze wool?" he lifted one of the bundles up, turning it so the man could see. "Seems like zere should be more."

"It's what I can give," the man responded quietly. "I must provide for my family, and be able to sell my wares at the market."

"Zat is not your concern," Chaffee corrected him, his voice thin. "Did I not instruct for everyone to bring all of zeir goods?"

"Well, yes," the other nodded, stammering over his words, "but I did pay my taxes, surely-"

"I will choose to see zis instance as a misunderstanding, as long as the rest of ze shares show up by ze day's end. It would be unfortunate if zey did not."

There was a nod, a pause, then the man ventured to ask yet another question. "My lord, if I have no wares to sell, how will I feed my family?"

"Pay your taxes, bring ze wares, and your family will be taken care of," Chaffee responded, waving the man along. There was another protest from him, but it was cut down as the guard pushed him along, motioning for the next in line to step up. This time it was a woman, handing over both goods and money. It was inspected, approved, and in return she was given a basket of food, one she clutched eagerly to her chest as she departed.

Vaysey let out a groan, finishing the rest of his wine. How boring this charade was. But he could notice easily how the pile was growing. Money in one, goods in another. Baskets of food were already made beforehand, enough to appease the peasant's appetites, but supplies would have to be divided amongst the townsfolk as well.

Lumber, wool, grains were the largest of these shares, all of which were grouped together in different piles. Chaffee had told him that they would be sold once more, after all the dues were collected. They would be exchanged with either silver, or other wares depending on the fees. Those who could not meet the demands placed before them, would learn to go without. It was an intriguing idea, and he was skeptical, but the growing piles were promising enough.

What was more amusing was the uncertainty that was plastered about all their faces. Peasants who had so openly warmed up to Chaffee were now silent, avoiding his gaze when at all possible, shuffling meagerly about as to not draw any unwanted attention. The feast they had taken part in a few days ago was nothing more than a vague memory; that much could be seen in all of their eyes.

Vaysey raised an eyebrow at the newcomer, a personal guard of his own who had pushed past the waiting line. There was a grunt from Chaffee, stopping the man in his tracks before he reached them, and the guard nodded, catching the sheriff's gaze.

"My lord, I was sent to bring a message. A moment, if you would grant it?"

There was a wave from Chaffee, as a signal, an allowance for him to leave. Vaysey could only frown, wanting no more than to point out he did not need the man's permission to do so, but instead he found himself holding his tongue. Slowly he pushed himself up, indicating for a servant to fetch his boots. They were slipped on, and he followed the guard out, breathing in the fresh air as he did so. It was far too stuffy inside the manor.

"What is it?" he grumped, but despite the minor irritation he was somewhat glad to have been pulled away. All of that nonsense in there was by far the least amount of amusement he had ever witnessed. How Chaffee could stand to sit there and listen to the imbeciles drone on was beyond him. He, himself, could barely tolerate the Council of Nobles, and at least those who attended had half a brain.

"The captain received word from the jailer, my lord," the guard started, and Vaysey grimaced. What word could this be? Had some of their prisoners escaped? It wouldn't surprise him, it would not be the first time. Or maybe Huntington wasn't as…disposed of as he had first assumed.

"One of the prisoners has taken a fever, the jailer requests an urgent meeting with you on the disposal of him."

"Fever?" This was what all the fuss was about? Why should it even matter? "There'll be no need for that," he griped angrily. This was what was considered urgent? He was surrounded by imbeciles.

"The jailer fears an epidemic," the guard pressed, but his voice had fallen, obviously not wanting to argue, but at the same time not wanting to bring any ill news back to his master. To this the sheriff smirked. "He wants to save his own skin, he means."

The jailer was a coward, he also an idiot. Hood had killed his last one, a man who had had an exceptionally fine craft in his trade, and Vaysey had been forced to find another. In all actuality it had been Gisborne who produced the man, had laden him with high recommendations. At the time, Vaysey had been too distracted to care, and furthermore had little interest in the matter. As long as the mongrel stayed in his dank prison, and kept the prisoners locked up, what difference did it make?

"So I shall tell them to do nothing then?"

"Let them rot with fever," he shook his head, uncaring. "One less mouth to feed, and if we're lucky, he'll take the entire lot with them. What fun that would be, don't you agree?"

There was a nod from the other, a bit of disagreement, but nothing was said. Of course, he was wise enough to not argue that matter. Vaysey took his leave, crossing the short distance they had traveled to make his way back into the manor. Another hour here, perhaps a little less and he would take his leave for certain. The silver would be packed, taken back to Nottingham to prepare for departure the following morning.

He came to a stop inside the manor, seating himself at the other end of the room, motioning for another cup of wine. Chaffee was attending to more of the peasants, motioning for servants to trade the food, while others began to pack the wares away for later use. To his side, he noticed, for the first time another man, who held a scroll and pen in one hand, making marks on the parchment with each trade. To this, Vaysey could only imagine, he was keeping track of who did and did not meet the demands. He would be certain to quiz the man later on the purpose, but for now he was content to where he was.

It didn't last long however. It was a fierce cry, one that was loud enough to catch everyone's attention. Both of the guards were Chaffee's, bustling in while flanking a much younger individual. A boy that was six, or maybe seven years; it was hard for Vaysey to judge. He didn't particular care for the pesky things, enjoying them about as much as he did lepers. In truth he hardly saw any reason for them at all, and found that they were better enjoyed never seen or heard. Until they were contributing members of society and even then they were often questionable.

So there was no objection on his part when the men dragged the boy roughly to the middle of the room. A few of the peasants were crying out, one he suspected was the mother, the incessant blubbering, the high-pitched howl grating on his every nerve. Chaffee had a look of indignation, the annoyance clear enough.

"What is zis?"

"He was found poking out back, near the barn where the supplies are being kept. He was found with this," the simple, small package was held up, shown to the crowd before being tossed on the wooden desk. The irritation still lined Chaffee's face as he motioned to one of the servants to open it, a loaf of bread being revealed.

So thievery started early in Locksley, it seemed. Vaysey found himself smirking, taking in some more wine. This was not the first time peasants had stolen from their lord; Gisborne always had issues with theft while he ran the stead. Gisborne had often brought the vermin to Nottingham, leaving it to him to decide the sentencing. The man was weak, often had a soft spot for children. Mildly Vaysey wondered if this was the first time the child had stolen, but was more interested to see Chaffee's take on the matter.

The man was silent, studying first the bread, and the child in question who struggled nervously in the grasp of the men. Most of the peasants had fallen quiet, too, save for the one blubbering woman who refused to silence herself, despite the firm warnings from one of the guards. Finally Chaffee waved a hand, demanding attention as he sat up in his seat.

"Tell me, is it you who took this?" he indicated to the bread on the desk.

"We caught him in the act-"

"I did not ask you," Chaffee cut the guard off sharply. There a was a smile that followed, his gaze softening as he looked back to the child. "Zere is nothing you have to fear. Tell me what happened."

The boy did not answer straight away, glancing around hesitantly, at both the crowd and the man before him. Finally he spoke, his voice laden with fear as he stuttered. "I…we were playing, we just found it."

"Oh? Where?" There was surprise in Chaffee's voice, which caused Vaysey to frown. Supplies that were locked up were not just found. The child was obviously lying. He wanted to point this matter out, but held his tongue, interested more to see what the man would do rather than to interfere.

"On the ground," the boy continued, more confident than he had been before. "One of men dropped it, we wanted to see what it was."

"So you did not return it?"

"I-"

"Instead you take it for yourself?" Chaffee turned away from the boy, meeting Vaysey's gaze. "Is zis not stealing, I wonder?"

"I believe it is," he nodded, a thin smile gracing his lips. The boy was nervous now, fidgeting where he was held.

"And what is ze punishment for stealing?"

"I would suggest hanging," Vaysey let out a shrug to show he that he really didn't care. There were others, however, that objected strongly, the fierce wailing of the mother starting up once more. He grimaced, pressing a hand to his head to try and block out the sound. More guards were holding the woman back, the others taking a firm hold on the boy who had started his struggles once more, pleading to be let go.

Chaffee cleared his throat, demanding silence which came only intermittently. "It is a small crime, an err in judgment. But we must still have order; zerefore a punishment will be had. Not even children are exempt from ze law. He will lose a hand. Zis will mark him as a zief, and should he steal again, zen he will hang."

There was silence, then followed the most utterly foul scream ever. The mother was fighting anew, trying to reach her son as the boy was pulled from the room. Others were protesting, too, while more held their tongues, head bowed and gazes averted as though they feared punishment should they try to interfere.

It lasted only moments though, both child and mother removed from the room. With a clap of his hands the line resumed, peasants exchanging goods and money for food as though nothing had happened. Vaysey felt himself smile from where he sat. Chaffee, it seemed, was not as much as a bleeding heart as he first thought the man to be. And Vaysey was interested to see where things would lead from here.

**TBC**


	23. Reminiscence

**Sorry about the long wait; work has had me busy and this chapter was particularly difficult for me to write. Thanks goes to kegel for her beta, and hope you all enjoy **

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**Chapter 23: Reminiscence**

It wasn't exactly lady-like, the position that she was in. But considering the alternative, Marian wasn't one to complain. She could remember how Gisborne had faired, the bruises on his face, or perhaps it had merely been stains from all that had been thrown. John had born similar marks, but not as heavily as the former Master-at-Arms had. Of course Gisborne had given the people far more reason to retaliate, while John was simply an outlaw.

For her, she imagined she was fairing quite well. While there had been some vulgar comments spouted her way, there had yet to be anything thrown. Perhaps it was because she was a lady, or the fact that she had once held position, being the daughter of the former sheriff. Most of the villagers ignored her, pretending as though she was not even there. Only a few glanced her way with sympathetic expressions, and even fewer dared to stop long enough to whisper a few words of support. Some had even asked if the rumors were true, wanting desperately to know if she actually was working with Robin Hood.

To this, she only smiled, daring to say nothing. While they were seeking comfort, Marian knew she could not betray her true intentions. For now, it was all a game, and nothing more. Provoking the sheriff, or letting it slip to Gisborne even about who she really was, could not do any of them any favors.

By mid-day she was covered in sweat. The sky was open, a deep summer blue that was monopolized by the sun. Her dark curls hung over her neck, encasing the sides of her face as her head hung, warming her all the more. Someone had been kind enough to bring her a cup of water, helping her to drink, but they hadn't stayed, hadn't said anything, instead scampering off back into the crowd before they could draw too much attention. It certainly had helped, but now it left her longing for another drink all the more.

She wondered how Djaq was doing. The Saracen was across the marketplace, near the castle courtyard, displayed in a similar fashion. Her heart went out to the woman, fearing what people might do considering Djaq's heritage. While she, and the others, knew the woman meant no harm, there were others who would be wary. Many were not educated in the matters of the war across the seas, but they knew well enough of who the enemy was. Her only hope was the fact that she had been declared one of Robin's gang. That alone might give Djaq enough protection, but not being able to see her sent Marian into a worry.

Djaq was not the only one she worried about. John had been worse off in the morning despite all of his rest. With Gisborne's help the man had taken in some more water, had eaten a bit of the molded bread, but by the things Gisborne had relayed, it hadn't sounded promising. She had been awake the night before, listening to how Gisborne had coaxed the jailer, trying to get him to open the door. The talk had revolved around John, about the fever and something about an epidemic.

To that the jailer had left, and hadn't returned until the morning when guards hauled both Will and Allan back down the dungeons. There had been a sharp protest when she and Djaq were pulled out next, none of the men wanting for them to be taken. Yet they were the sheriff's orders, as was the command to leave John where he was, without any medical attention at all. It was not just John that this did not bode well for. Marian feared that Gisborne might be right in the fact of an epidemic.

She wanted to help John as much as the others. The anger was easy to see in Djaq's eyes, the woman blaming herself for not being able to do more. Marian knew the woman was good, for she had been the one who had saved her life. How many times Djaq had tended to the others while in her absence Marian could not say. And it was infuriating to see the pain in her eyes due to the fact there was nothing she could do to help.

It also left a sickening realization. The fact that they all would perhaps die. Not from hanging, but from sickness and famine. The first few days she had spent in the dungeons she had been hungry. Whatever sparse food had been shoved her way had been devoured without thought. The rations now were hardly bigger, aside from the fact she now had a new cell mate. The measly portion was split almost evenly, but Marian had soon found her hunger had begun to dwindle. She also noticed that her clothes were starting to not fit quite so well anymore.

The laces had been redone with Djaq's help to hold the dress to her frame. It was working, for now, but she was worried that before long there would be nothing to hold it in place. Not only was the thought alarming, but it was also humiliating. How much longer any of them could go on like this was a wonder for her.

Tenderly she licked her dry lips, eyes casting to the sky to note the passing of the sun. It was close to noon, and depending on the sheriff's mood she could easily be here until the same time tomorrow. There was a grave worry that this might be the case; Vaysey, it seemed, had a personal score with her. He had been by earlier that day, to mock her, grabbing her chin roughly and studying her as though she was some sort of prize.

There had been a demeaning muttering about Robin as well. About how the man was for certain dead. She hadn't reacted, hadn't shown any reason that she should care. It hurt, but she quietly reminded herself that Robin was merely away. He would come back, and when he did he would find them, and somehow rescue them. Until then they merely had to survive; they all had to survive.

"Lady Marian?"

She glanced up at the voice, but hadn't really needed to look to see who it was. Marian mustered up the best smile that she could, trying to put the other at ease. "Hello, Jess."

She had grown since Marian had last seen her. No longer was she the young child, but instead a girl on the verge of womanhood. But she still seemed so fragile, dressed in the dirty rags, clutching a bucket in her hands.

"Mother said you were back," she started off quietly. "She saw you the other day, inside the castle. Figured maybe you forgot about us, you didn't even look her way."

"I could never forget about you," Marian shook her head. "I've been…busy," she chose the word carefully, motioning as best as she could to the contraption about her neck.

"You didn't even say goodbye the last time," Jess pointed out as though seeing her like this was a common occurrence. Then she sighed quietly. "Mother was sad; she thought something had happened to you. Well…it has now, but she wants to help."

"Thank you, Jess. But I don't think that she can," she answered softly. The last she wanted to do was to get either of them in trouble. Lucky for her the sheriff either couldn't remember, or didn't care, who her past connections were. Trying to push aside the thought Marian continued, turning the topic to lighter conversations. "How is your mother doing?"

The girl shrugged, looking away. "She's been tired, with the work and all. Worried too; both of us have to work hard, or else we don't get to eat."

"Is there not enough food?" She hadn't heard of any food shortages, but at the same time the dungeons weren't exactly the best place to pick up on gossip and town news.

"The sheriff is keeping all of it in the stores; guards check off our lists, of money and stuff. If we don't have enough, they won't give us any food. And we can't even take some from our friends. A boy the other day, he had some bread that wasn't his, they cut off his hand."

"What?" this was hard to swallow, and it almost felt as though she had misheard. But the fear behind Jess' eyes was clear enough to read.

"Mother worries for me. I carry supplies from some of the shops, and if the counts don't match up, I'm scared the same will happen to me."

"Oh, Jess," her words were but a whisper. For what else could she say? Trapped as she was, there was nothing Marian could do about it. Inside she felt sick, and she knew it was not just the heat that was causing it. For anyone to lose a hand, for any offense, was cruel, but for a child? This was something she could not even begin to fathom.

"And then people say that Robin Hood is dead. He must be, because he wouldn't let this happen, he would do something. Wouldn't he?"

"I…I don't know," Marian answered. It was not that she did not have faith in the man. Robin would be furious had he any idea of what was going on. But she also knew that he could not change things simply because he wanted to. This was a far more cruel matter than either of them had seen before, and Robin was just one man.

There was a nod from the girl, a look of understanding, as though all of it had already been explained to her. "I have to go; mom's waiting for me."

"You tell her that I'm alright," Marian caught her attention before the girl could leave. She wanted to leave the pair with some hope. They were friends, and they cared about one another, but Marian knew her predicament did not involve the other two. Somehow it was up to them, Marian, Gisborne, and the outlaws, to figure a way out. They had to utilize the time giving, no matter the humiliation that had to be suffered from it. Time, she knew, that they might not have much longer. If there was only a way in which they could help John…

She bit her lip, an idea coming to her then. Jess stopped when Marian called her name, swinging back to listen to what she had to say.

"Do you know Matilda?"

Marian was speaking of a woman from Locksley, a sort of physician, but not officially. Still, she had tended to her fair share of illnesses, as well as holding the reputation of being one of the best midwives within Nottinghamshire. While some questioned her methods, most put their trust in her without questions. Marian could feel the hope inside when she saw the girl nod.

"She's taken care of me a few times already," Jess explained.

"Can you fetch her for me? Tell her that I must speak with here, today. One of the men down there, he is sick. She might be able to help."

Jess' nod was a welcoming sight. Marian knew that there was a chance the woman might not come; it was understandable. But she would not ask unless it was of dire importance, and there was the hope that Matilda would understand this notion as well.

* * *

He had waited until Nathaniel was asleep before grasping his pack and slipping out. The hour was late, but there was no work for him come the next day, which made the opportunity perfect. Even so, there were still a few souls awake, men laughing boisterously in the common room as they took in yet another mug of ale. Robin crept by, and out the door without so much of a pause.

There would be a change in the guards, only a span of a few minutes, but it was more than what he needed. Listening, and watching more importantly, had garnered him this knowledge. Now, even as he was certain, he could feel his heart race.

There were many things that could go wrong, and only one way in which things could go right. The risk he was taking tonight was a high one, but it needed to be done. He told himself that nothing could be accomplished unless he spoke with Much, but there was a budding suspicion brewing inside of Robin that the only reason he was going tonight was because he simply wanted to speak with the man. It had been so long…

Time had been spent, mulling over one possibility before moving to another. His simplest of plans was finding his way to the cave, move through the tunnel and signal Much from there. But with so many others he was bound to be caught, and the suspicion would be far too high. He could simply go and wait, and hope by some reason the man would come on his own, but that was reliant on too many chances. His final idea had come to him unexpectedly, but it had seemed probable enough.

Rhodri worked the mines that night. His first order of business was bringing both food and water to the miners. When learning this, Robin had pulled him aside, had whispered to him what the boy needed to know. Rhodri seemed uncertain at first, but agreed to help. Still, there was a chance for failure; with near a hundred men to choose from, finding a single one would not be easy. Even if they were narrowed down by lots.

Robin pushed the thoughts from his mind as he came near the opening. This was the first of many things he had to get right. During the day the entrance was without guards. But the men who took the late shift departed early, by only a few minutes, ready and eager to leave. And the next shift came, but always on time, never any earlier. Crouching down he hid himself in the sparse foliage, folding his body along the ground as he waited. The time spent there was ten, perhaps fifteen minutes before he saw them leave. The men had pulled free their cloths, and were locked in a heavy conversation. Robin waited until they were halfway across the grounds before he moved.

His heart was still racing inside his chest as he descended, the dark claiming him but hardly calming his fears. Once he reached the ground, he wasted little time in moving, using his hand to feel his way until he disappeared around the bend. It was several more turns before he came to a stop, setting down the bag and reaching inside.

The items he packed were few, but essential, the bit of wood that would serve as a torch, a flint, and a length of rope he had managed to find. Robin hoped it would be long enough, eyes blinking in the new light as the sparks turned into flames. He knew where he was, recalling from memory which way he had yet to go. Closing the pack he shouldered it once more, moving with a hurried pace.

It had been easier the second time, trying to find the opening. Using the dagger he pulled free a patch of dirt, grounding the end of the torch inside to free his hands. The bag was opened once again, Robin moving closer to the edge as he reached out. The formations here were perhaps the strongest, thick slabs of rock that had melded back into the cave, leaving small gaps and openings. Small, yet just large enough for the length of rope that was passed through. Tying a knot, he made sure that it was secure, tossing the rest over the side. The end came to a rest several feet above the ground, a distance he might be able to reach when it came time to leave. If not, Robin could bide his time, and slip out through the tunnel come the next day.

He was quick in extinguishing the torch, leaving it behind as he made his descent. The wall was slick, covered in moisture and provided hardly any grip, Robin having to rely on strength alone to keep him from falling. The last difficultly came at the end, unable to feel the ground beneath him, unable to see, feeling as though he was caught over open air. Even with the reminder that it was a short drop, he still felt nervous, taking more than a moment to convince himself to let go.

With solid ground beneath him, Robin could feel the nervousness dissipate. Now it was only a matter of time. He sat down along the wall, folding legs beneath him as he pulled his hood over his head. Much of the war had been spent waiting, biding his time, being patient. Robin felt as though an eternity had already passed since hiding under this new guise, the anticipation brewing as he counted his breaths. He could not tell if time was actually passing, or if each mere second felt so much longer than what it honestly was. Whatever the cause, he was starting to worry.

Had Rhodri been caught? Or the message given to the wrong man? Or even not all…maybe Rhodri had been reassigned somewhere else, and Robin's presence here was futile. He tried to not let the worries get to him, reminding himself that everything would be fine. So when the first breath of light reached the cavern, the relief was explainable.

Robin moved to his feet with some effort, the limbs having gone numb from the position, but he ignored the cramps and the stiffness as he pressed his back against the cave wall. He was almost certain it was the other man. Almost, but not positive. And until he knew…

The full glow of the torch illuminated the area now, and Robin loosed a signal, one they had used many times within the shadows of Sherwood. It was a mimic of a bird, of a familiar call heard within the woods. He waited, counting the seconds that passed, and whistled once more. This time it was answered, and Robin knew that it was safe.

"I was beginning to wonder if you got my message," Robin greeted him as he stepped from the shadows. Much nodded, eyes falling as he answered.

"I…I had to wait until the others were asleep. Didn't want them to follow…"

"Good thinking."

Robin had simply assumed Much would come alone, and hadn't even paused to think the man might bring another. Neither had he given the time to rationalize the simple fact that it might be as difficult for him to slip away as it was for Robin. At least that explained what had taken so long.

Something that was more peculiar was the simple fact as to what was taking place now. There had been so many things on his mind of what he wanted to speak of. So many things he wanted to tell the other, but had been unable to. And Much, dear sweet Much, the very man who he could hardly get to stop talking was now not uttering a single word. The flames licked the air between them, crackling and sparking as they fed on the torch, filling the void between them. It was not the first time the man had been quiet though, Robin remembering back to the day they had first seen one another down here. And it brought up a memory he had not been able to push from his mind.

"Tell me something," he started quietly. "You said that you hoped I would come; not knew, but hoped."

It was an awkward thing to say, Robin wondering just then if perhaps he was taking things too close to heart. Surely it had been nothing more than a slip of words, but it left him to wonder, seeing the other's reaction.

"Well, I…you can't blame me," Much responded, flustered. "I mean, look where we are," he motioned around them, indicating the cavern. "I didn't know if you would ever find me, or if you were even looking."

"Of course I was." His answer was immediate; shocked by the sole fact that Much would even think they would simply forget him. And yet he felt the guilt, remembering just then that for a time he _had _tried to forget. But he pushed it aside, attributing it to overwrought emotions and truly not knowing what had taken place. After they had learned what had happened Robin had been focused on nothing else. But even then they had only gotten a part of the story.

"What happened?" He wanted to move this conversation along, wanted to think of other things, better things if they could. While retelling the story of how things came to be may not be comforting, Robin wanted to hear Much's side of the story, and maybe figure out where things had gone wrong.

"I.." the man shook his head, letting out a sigh. "I went to…to do something," he stuttered, pushing past his words quickly just then. "I saw a boy, and…I had to do something."

"We found the boy," Robin nodded, remembering just how scared the child had been. That was how they had first learned something was amiss. "He's safe, thanks to you."

There was a nod, "Seems like the only thing that went right. How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't, at first," Robin confessed. "Thomas…the boy, the men told him a little about where they were going to take him. I guessed they were taking you to the same place. I've been tracking you for weeks."

"Has it really been that long?" There was incredulity in his voice as he glanced away. Robin nodded even though the other man could not see him. "And just you? Where are the others?"

"Back in Sherwood."

"Why did you come?"

Robin let out a short laugh, shaking his head at the fact that the man had even asked the question. "You know why I came."

The other man was silent for a moment, his facial expression barely visible in the flickering light. To this Robin let out a sigh, choosing his next words carefully. "Why else would I have come?"

"I don't know."

Robin was beginning to think that things had changed in the course of their separation, and not for the better it seemed. He had seen times, during the war, when Much was quiet, and solemn, usually after a battle where blood had been shed mercilessly. But then it was to be expected, and it never lasted long. By the time the night fell, or the new morning sun rose, Much had always been babbling about new things. That had been a lifeline for Robin, had been the one thing that had kept him from going insane throughout all of those years. It had helped him to forget what had taken place, even if only for a short time.

But this was not war; instead it was something entirely different. Much's entire demeanor seemed off, as though it was lacking something. Robin suspected that simply being here could drive one mad, and he could only guess how long the man had spent sheltered away without fresh air or sun on his back. The thought made him shiver, concerned now for his friend's well-being.

"We'll find a way out of this, I'm going to put a stop to this," he promised, encouraging the other to look at him.

"How? This isn't like back home; it's not like the other mines we've seen."

"I know," Robin agreed. "But we'll figure something out, trust me. I have a plan…sort of."

Much was nodding, looking away again, his voice quieter this time. Robin had to strain his ears to hear what was said, but even then it caused him to frown.

"And if we do get out, what then?"

"We go back to Sherwood," he answered, wondering why the answer was even necessary to be voiced.

"I…may not go," came the even quieter response.

"What?"

Robin's brow furled in confusion. He would have figured out of everything that Much would be eager to leave this place. To return home, back to others. It was his home as much as it was anyone else's, and therefore seemed to be the only logical solution.

"I just…I know I'm not wanted there-"

"Much," he tried to cut the other off, but the man continued as though nothing had been said.

"I just get in the way, I mess everything up, just ask Will how many of his things—his traps, that I've ruined…"

"A mistake," Robin tried to reassure him.

"And how many times I've almost blown our cover during a mission, how many times I actually have? I can't do anything right, and no one wants me there."

"We all want you there."

It was unnerving to hear this. It was a side that Robin had never seen, something that he had never before heard the other do. But he could hardly speak, Much's voice growing firm now, stronger than it had been only a moment ago.

"I'm sure the others don't, and I know you don't."

"When have I ever said so?"

This time it was Much who had laughed. Had Robin not known the man better, he would have assumed the other to be going mad. Perhaps he was, and Robin was simply trying to deny it.

"Oh, many times," Much continued.

"Such as?"

He was quiet, then he shook his head. "When you thought Gisborne was a traitor, when you said he tried to kill the king, and you tried to kill him. I told you…I told you to not do it. You told me to leave then."

"I was distracted, Much."

Robin did not like to admit to the fact he had given in so easily to his rage. It was a powerful emotion, one that had taken him prisoner on the battlefield. On his return to England he had promised himself to not let it take him ever again. When he had learned the truth of Gisborne's treason, there had been nothing to stop it from returning. But what he said then was so long ago, and the reasoning behind could surely be seen. Much had to realize that.

"And when we thought the king was returning? When Marian was to marry, again you said…it was you who said all of that, when we were outside of Locksley."

To this he turned away. There was nothing he could say to deny those accusations, the guilt never having gone away. Forgotten, surely, but still there just the same. Robin had been hurting, had only wanted to grieve on his own, and he hadn't taken the time to consider how sharp his words actually had been. After all this time he could not recall what exactly he had told Much, but he knew it had wounded simply due to the look in the man's eye. That was not something he could forget.

"Then you sent the others away, Little John, Allan and Will. Told them to leave. And I told you it wasn't a good idea, the only reason I didn't say anything else was because you would have made me go, too."

"It was a disagreement," Robin told him quietly, looking his way now. "And you know full well that I took the blame for that."

Yes, he had been angry. Arguments had been rampant among the lads; they had started to argue against his authority. Robin knew that he may have not been right in his decisions, but his patience had finally worn out. Now he realized it would have been better to leave on his own, to calm down before having done anything. His actions nearly cost lives of the others, nearly had left Will crippled. It was not something he was proud of, but he had learned. It was a mistake.

"Maybe," Much breathed, giving him a short nod. "What about after that? You tried to kill me; you even said that you meant to do so."

It was as though he had been socked in the stomach, finding himself suddenly short on breath. That had taken place not too entirely long ago. It was a more recent memory, something he could not simply cast away no matter how he wished to do so. And Much was right, at the time it had taken place, he had had every intention of killing the other. He just hadn't known what he was doing…

"You know I was not myself," he forced the words out after what seemed like an eternity. That much he could attest to being true. It was foolish, the way he had allowed himself to fall so easily into a trap, and he had paid a price for it.

Disorientated and confused, he had somehow stumbled into the grasp of the sheriff, who had used him for his own gains. Vaysey had turned his mind, made him believe that his own friends were instead the enemy. And Robin had almost fallen for it, the image of stark fear, of the disbelief on Much's face playing through his mind as Robin had tried to bring the blade down. It was all a jumbled mess of memories, but that was one he could recall without flaw.

"I did not mean it."

"You always say that," Much answered quietly.

"Because it is true," he pressed. How Much had come to think of him like this, Robin did not know. But he had to make the other see sense, had to get him to understand…

"And what other things did you not mean?"

"What?"

His voice was almost a whisper, afraid to hear where this conversation was now going.

"The things you said, during the war, about us being brothers in arms. About you making me a free man, about Bonchurch…are any of those true?"

"Of course, I would not say them otherwise."

"You say things you do not mean all the time," Much argued his point. "How am I supposed to know what is true and what is not?"

Robin swallowed, his feelings rampant. He wasn't sure if he was angry, or bitterly upset, or simply shocked. He could not argue against logic, could not argue against reason, but there had to be some way to make the other understand. "What is this really about?"

It was by no fault of his that Much had come to be here. Yet he couldn't help but feel the man was somehow trying to blame him. And Robin felt as though all his efforts to come here had been in vain. He could not just leave the man here, would not do so despite where things led. But he had to know why…

"It's about you saying that you made me a free man, but then not treating me any different than before. We used to be friends…I thought," the man stammered, the struggle with his words obvious. "But now there are others, and you're nicer to them than you are to me. Back during the war…it was just the two of us, and we could talk, we did talk, about everything. What's happened to that? We never talk…"

"Back during the war it _was _just the two of us," Robin pointed out. "Now there are others, and I can't just ignore them."

"But you can ignore me?"

"Much," he let out a sigh. "I have an obligation, a duty, to everyone. Not just you."

"Then why don't you go back to them? Why did you even come, if you have an obligation to them?"

"Because, Much, I want you back," Robin snapped quickly, falling quiet as soon as the words were spoken. For a moment the man just watched him, just as silent. Then he shook his head.

"Even if that was true—"

"It is," Robin insisted.

"Even _if _it was, the others obviously don't care. Otherwise they would have come, too. I mean, we all went to rescue you, they all like you. But it's different for me, isn't it?"

"They wanted to come," he argued, remembering well how Will had tried to convince him to not go alone. "I wouldn't allow it."

"Because you were afraid they might actually be able to help?"

"Because someone had to stay and take care of the villages," Robin snapped. "By now the sheriff probably realizes that I am gone, and there is no telling what he will try to do in my absence. At least with the rest of the gang there they can at least try and stop things."

There was no response to this, instead another bout of silence. Robin wet his lips, drawing in a breath before he continued.

"You are my friend, and whatever I may have done to wrong you, we will find a way to work through it," he pressed. It was difficult to say so, for Much had never been bothered by it before. Or perhaps he had, only choosing now to bring it to light. Robin did not want to believe that he had been so cold, and callous as the man was making him out to be.

"It's just…" Much was shaking his head, "being down here, I don't know what's happened."

"I know," Robin agreed. He too believed that it was the driving force behind everything.

"How do you know?"

"I just do," he hoped that was enough of an explanation. "We will figure this out, and we will get out of here."

"Everyone?"

Robin nodded, for he had no intentions of just leaving the others to this fate. There were good people down here, people that were like Much, people that were like Rhodri, children who deserved to have a good life. That was something they could never have while being here.

"How?"

"I'm working on it," Robin admitted quietly. There was no real plan, at least not yet. But he would think of something, he had to. "But when the time comes…I'll need your help."

"Of course," the man agreed. It gave him cause to smile, hearing for the first time the man that he knew. "Wait until I tell Eleri."

"Eleri?" It was his turn to ask the question, and he grinned as the saw the other blush in the timid light.

"She's…she's a girl," Much stammered.

"I figured as much," Robin laughed quietly. So he hadn't been entirely alone while down here. "But you can't tell her. You can't tell anyone."

"What? Why not?"

"Because it wouldn't do any good if we had people running around talking about a guard that was going to set them free, now would it?"

It took a moment, but finally Much shook his head, "I guess not, but I could just tell her, couldn't I?"

"No," Robin shook his head, the humor now gone from it. "We cannot risk it; we'll have only once chance to do this, and it will be in our favor if no one knows about it. Promise me you won't tell anyone."

"Alright," Much agreed quietly. "But how will I know what will happen?"

"I'll find a way to let you know. I will not be able to come here every night, but we'll find a way."

Rhodri was the first person that came to mind, but Robin wasn't sure if he wanted to risk the boy. True he had access to the prisoners, could work his way about the mines with little suspicion. But if they were ever found out…Robin did not wish to know what might happen to the child.

"I think, I think we should go," Much broke his thoughts, the concern in his voice easy to hear. "I mean…the others will be waking soon, and you, you have to get back out of here…"

"Yes," Robin agreed. "We will see one another again," he promised.

"About what I said-," Much started, but Robin cut him off.

"It seems to me that we both say things we do not mean."

His smile was returned after a moment, but Robin did not linger for much longer. He turned, making his way back to where the rope trailed, grasping it with some effort. Much, he knew, waited until he reached the top, knew because the light did not fade until he was once again in the tunnels above. It would have been easy, so easy to take the man with him. But Robin couldn't, not just yet. He needed for the man to be there, for he had gained the trust of the other workers, and when the time was right, would be able to convince them to act.

Now all that was needed, was a plan.

**TBC**


	24. Help From the Outside

**Eg….sorry for the long wait in-between updates (on my other fic as well, that is being written and will be finished here hopefully soon). Thanks goes to Kegel for her beta on this!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Four: **Help From the Outside

The map was old, showing signs that it had been well-used. Through the creases and folds, as well as the stains and smears it was partially difficult to read at times. But Robin knew enough of the mines by now that he could make sense of what he couldn't quite see. What was more important, was figuring out what he didn't know.

"I don't remember a tunnel being here," he commented, fingers playing over the faded marks. He pulled back as the other came over to see.

"It's not there anymore," Rhodri explained, stringing another arrow into the bow. "There was a cave-in, about…a couple of years ago now," the boy shrugged.

It was a danger of working in the mines; he had seen that with his own eyes back in Treeton. While a cave-in would be a definite cause to put an end to operations, Robin needed a plan that didn't kill everyone in the process. Plus it was ugly business, his thoughts drifting back to what he had witnessed back home. Many men had died, more had gone on strike. For that, there had been more deaths, and slaves had been ordered to work in their stead. That would not be an issue here, Robin knew. For these people were already slaves, and rebellion was most likely not on the top of their list.

"Look," Rhodri called to him, pointing towards the tree, the same one they had been using as a mark now for the past few weeks. The arrow had lodged itself close, still a little low, but not by much. The boy was certainly improving. Robin smiled.

"Good, bring your aim up a little. A few more times and we'll make a new target, shoot a little further away."

There was a brief smile, before it broke into a full-fledged grin as he raced off to collect the arrows. Robin couldn't help but share the same joy, his memories taking him back to the first time he had ever held a bow. He could remember practicing until his arms were sore, his fingers raw from the string, but he had enjoyed every moment. His aim had been decent when he first started, and soon after it became near perfect. His father had always commented that he had a gift with a bow, and Robin fully believed it.

The memories brought to him new thoughts, something that had never quite entered his imagination before. Rhodri was not his own, but it left him to wonder if he would one day have the chance to teach a son of his own, or a daughter, if she were anything like Marian…

Robin closed his eyes, holding his breath. Marian was gone to him. Married surely by now, a Gisborne. He had done so well for these last few days, hadn't thought of her, so it was a curse for her to suddenly spring into his mind. She would never be the mother of his children, if he was to have any at all, that was. For what life would a child have if he was an outlaw?

Of course, if the king did return home, he would be pardoned. He would no longer be an outlaw, but that was sometime in the future, perhaps the far future. There was no end in sight of the war, and stubborn as the king was, Robin doubted the man would return otherwise. There was a hope that he would, even more so if he knew what was being done in his name. But these were things that were in theory, not set in stone. Whatever the case, it was not favorable for Robin.

The sound of another arrow whistling through the air broke him from the thoughts, Robin seeing, just in time, the arrow bury itself into the wood. There was a laugh from the boy, and Robin forced a smile as he turned back to the map, trying to forget earlier thoughts.

"Do you know anything about this room?"

He was now looking at another outline of a cave, one that was similar in size to where the workers slept, but at opposite ends among the tunnels. The markings that were there had faded, smudged and ink had run together, making the letters indistinguishable. Rhodri fired one last arrow, watching to see where it went, before he came over.

"That's the water room."

"Water room?"

He nodded, "It's real big, lower than the tunnels, the floors, they go like this," he made motions with his hands, indicating a tilt. "That's where the water goes, there's a thing, sort of like a wagon wheel, that turns, and it picks the water up. Father told me once how it worked, but that was a while ago, I don't remember now. But I do know it's important. Last time when it stopped turning, the water kept rising, and the mines nearly flooded. We had to carry buckets of water up that ladder all night long. We were so tired."

Robin frowned, taking in what the other said. He couldn't be sure, but he had an idea in the back of his mind. "A water wheel, you mean?"

Rhodri shrugged, switching the bow to his other hand. "I guess so…it's a wheel that's in water."

Robin laughed, and nodded as he turned his gaze back to the map. "It's right by the river too…"

"My father said something about a river," he added quickly. "I mean, when he was telling me about how it worked."

Could it be, Robin wondered? With the devices he had seen before, they often had been moved by water, sometimes by a mule if the earlier option was not available. Most of the time it was for the grinding of grains into flour, the work of a miller through the use of a stone. But there was no mill here, and by all indications this wheel was under not only the river, but the ground as well. What use then, would it be?

"We should go," Robin told Rhodri suddenly, folding the map back up. He had chanced upon it on an earlier day, had kept it hidden and preferred to keep it that way as well. Today had been the first day he had a chance to look over it properly, within the confines of the forest. But if they were to stay here for too long, someone would eventually come looking for them. Rhodri nodded, lining up one last arrow, the mark hitting dead on. There was pride in his features, and he handed the bow back with a little reluctance before helping to gather up the fired projectiles. Some were damaged, tossed into the undergrowth, but the rest went back into his quiver. And within a few minutes, it looked as though no one had even been there.

Rhodri went his own separate way, Robin circling around the perimeter, pretending to enjoy the weather of the day. Indeed the sun was high, marking that it was close to noon, and the air warm, but the state to the day's atmosphere was nowhere even close on his mind. Instead he made his way north, looping around the manor and back into the forest on the other side of the grounds, pausing every so often to see if he was by any chance being followed. Satisfied that he was not, Robin resumed his pace, slowing only when he came to the edge of the river.

The map was pulled from his pocket, unfolded once again as fingers grazed over the parchment, tracing the line of the river. A few minutes of careful consideration, and Robin figured out where he needed to go. Turning west he stayed near the river, searching the banks for anything that might catch his eye, referring back to his map after every set number of paces. It was here the forest grew thicker, foliage and underbrush grown thick, almost going clear to the bank of the river, forcing Robin to watch his step. It was shortly after this that he came to a stop, kneeling near a tree. According to the map, he was now right above the room.

If the wheel worked directly with the river, as Rhodri had suggested, it should be close. But the river was untouched, betraying no signs of any intervention, no indication that something had been built. The current was swift, swirling at one end as the water fell over a small ledge, foam and bubbles appearing at the irrigation. From there the river wound, working its way downstream and around another bend. Maybe it was all gone; Rhodri had said the wheel had broken somehow; maybe it had never been repaired. If that was true, then the map would show nothing.

He let out a sigh, dropping the map as he scanned the river once more. The sound of the river intermingled with that of the birds, a soft alluring rhythm he had grown so accustomed to back in Sherwood. There were rivers that ran through there, but hardly any falls, which was something that was just occurring to him now. While there was a clear dip in the river, the land did not move with it. Instead it seemed almost as if…

Robin pulled the quiver from his back, resting it along with his bow near a tree. His tunic, belt and sword followed soon after, along with his boots. Stripped down to his leggings, he crept to the side of the river, easing himself into the water. It was cold, sending a shiver through him as he held onto the bank, feeling the ground beneath him. The current had already caught him, and it was a struggle to keep himself upright as he worked his way to where the water was cascading.

The further he went, the deeper the river became. The water started at just above his waist, working to the middle of his chest, and soon to his shoulders and just below his neck. The chill stung him, a series of shivers working their way through as he came to a pause. The current was still strong, but not terribly so, and if he was ever going to reach the middle of the river he could not stay here. His worries of course were with how deep it would become, seeing there was not much room for leeway. But he could solve that problem easily enough, he figured.

With a breath he let go, diving underneath the surface. A few strong kicks propelled him where he needed to go, feet catching the ground to help steady his body against the pull of the water. He could see something, the murkiness of the water obscuring his gaze slightly as he reached out. His hand came to rest against stone, something that one would think a jumbled pile of rocks, but what he saw told him differently.

Though the force of the water had worn it down over time, the shapes alone were quite clear. More of a slab, something that was made by hand, rather than by nature. But why it was here was the real question on Robin's mind. He surfaced, drawing in another breath before going back under, swimming against the current to get a better look. Above the falls, he found an opening in the stone, a series of grates embedded across the opening, splitting the flow of the river into two. It was some sort of tunnel, or perhaps another cave opening in which the water was rushing into, and Robin dimly wondered if all of this was by accident or not.

He pushed his way to the surface once more, reaching out for the edge to pull himself out, but was caught by the current. The sudden submersion caught him unaware, and he came up coughing, sputtering as he choked on the mouthful of water he had just swallowed. Robin tried again, reaching for the edge, but found himself being carried further downstream. The ground beneath his feet was gone, frantic kicks doing little more than to twist him around as the current continued to pull him away.

The chill of the water was already sapping his strength, Robin feeling his limbs grow tired as he tried to reach out for the shore. He could feel his fingers just brush against the edge, catching dirt and grass, but never close enough to grab solid ground. Again he was pulled under, and it was a struggle to just find the surface, coughing and sputtering as he reached out again.

This time, he did not meet solid ground. Instead there was relief, as a hand reached out for him, catching him by a wrist and holding fast. Yet shortly after the relief, a new, more worrisome feeling raced through him as he saw who it was.

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She was reminded of the days when she had first been on English soil. None of it had been by her choice, to be chained and caged like an animal. Neither had she known where they had been taking her, or what her fate would be. Over time she had learned, her ability to understand the Englishman enough to realize what they were meant to do. A worker in the mine, she figured, was not as terrible as other options. And when the cart had come to a stop in the forest, and they had found themselves surrounded by thieves and outlaws, she really had no knowledge as to what was to happen. And Djaq would have never guessed, through all of the odds, that she would become one of them.

She was not sure why she chose to stay. This fight was not hers after all. She could have left with the others, could have gone home. But it was then she had realized that there really was no home left for her. There were friends who would take her in, Djaq knew, but she also knew that she did not like the prospect of a land that was torn apart by war. And who knew how long she would be there, before being caught once more and taken prisoner like last time. It was her guise as her brother that had kept her safe. If her captors had known that she was a woman…

The thought had made her shiver, having been in the position that she was. If the villagers knew she was a woman, they did not show it. Most had ignored her, a few had taken pleasure in their sports and games, and it left no room to wonder where the others had accumulated their bruises from. By the day's end, when she was led back down to the dank dungeons, Djaq was certain she resembled the others quite well.

Marian exchanged the briefest of glances with her as they were pushed inside the dungeon cell. In the dim light it was difficult to tell if it was concern, or something else that marked her features. She was more focused on picking herself off the floor, dusting off the remains of crusted fruit that still clung to her face and clothes. It was not the first time she had been the target of unwanted actions, the memory of her travels across seas on her first voyage to England coming back to mind.

The door behind them was locked, the guards moving in wait across the room while the jailer limped his way over there, fumbling with the keys. The men on the other side watched warily, each tense as if ready to spring. Maybe by some luck of fate they were, and with some hope, would find a way past the armed guards. But she could see the weariness in their faces, knew that they felt like she, weak from hunger, and desperation setting in.

"Come on then, some of you pretties get to sleep outside tonight," the jailer remarked as he turned the keys. The door opened, the jailers grabbing a hold of the first man that tried to push his way through. Allan was about as successful as Djaq had believed he would be, struggling in the grasp of two guards who dragged him out. The others stayed where they were, pressed against the walls, each one hoping to avoid detection.

"Bring that one up too, he's smelling up the dungeons he is," a finger was pointed where John was, the man still wrapped in fever, a glare shot their way at the comment.

Near her, Djaq could see Marian tense. The woman had pressed herself against the bars, shaking her head as a quiet 'no' escaped her lips. She knew the reason behind her concern. John was in no state to deal with another round of brutal treatment from the guards and villagers above. With the chill of the night, the open elements, and the coming day, the toll would simply be too much. Djaq wondered if this was the jailer's intentions, the man having been rigid ever since John took the fever, and treatment had been denied by the sheriff. The jailer had done well to keep his distance from all of them, coming near only to see one group of prisoners to the cell, and another out.

"You can't take him," Will protested, on his feet now, voicing the very concerns that had just been in her mind. She felt herself smile, admiring the man's sudden courage, but there was fear too, as to what they might do to him. Djaq was tempted to call out, to warn Will to be careful, for it would do no good for all of them to be suffering worse, but then she also knew that if John had any hope it was here. At the very least he could rest, could eat what little food came their way, and gather his strength.

But before anything could be done, another member of the dungeon cell stepped forward. "Take me instead."

The jailer laughed, "A little late to try and be noble, don't you think?"

"Noble?" Gisborne laughed, "You honestly think you'll be able to drag him all the way outside? And I don't particularly care to spend another night with him. But if you insist, by all means, go ahead. He's been sick enough times today that I'm sure he won't have anything left to spew while you're carrying him up there. You should be just fine."

There was a moment of hesitation on the jailer's part, the physical draining of color from his face. That had been one of his biggest worries, Djaq knew, but she too, could feel a new worry. If John had not been able to hold anything down throughout the day…

"Alright then," the man finally mused. "The sheriff only wants the stocks full, he doesn't care with who. And if you're so eager to fill it, then by all means we shan't deny you that request."

The guards seemed far too eager to seize him. Djaq was not sure if that was because Gisborne used to be their former master, or because they were simply relieved that they did not have to carry a sick man up several flights of stairs and through the courtyard. The cell was locked, the jailer giving them all one last hard glare before turning away, leaving them alone as he followed the guards up the stairs.

Marian let out a sigh of relief, but Djaq had other matters on her mind as she stepped near the bars. "He has been getting sick?"

The question was directed at Will, and it was to her surprise to see the man shake his head. "No, I don't know why…" the confusion was clear in his voice as he watched to where the others had been taken. Djaq glanced over her shoulder, and when she turned back she found Marian watching her with a smile.

"Guy's given us a distraction," she provided, reaching into the folds of her dress, "let's use it wisely."

Djaq stared at the pouch in her hand, taking it only when prompted. Inside was a collection of vials, different colors, different smells. Some she recognized, others she had her thoughts about, but could not be certain. Quickly she glanced up at the woman, who only smiled.

"How did you get these?"

"A friend," she answered, a more serious tone coming on then. "Will any of them help?"

She turned her attention back to the vials, opening and smelling the contents inside, her gaze drifting back to where the others were. Will was watching her now, curious no doubt what they were up to. This was the difficult part, for if only she could reach John herself she could assess all that was going on, and be of more help to him. But they would have to learn to make do, as it seemed this was their situation for now. At least until they found a way out of here. Sooner or later, she reasoned, the sheriff and jailer would have to slip somehow. This was not the first time she had been behind bars, and she was determined to not make it her last.

"Will," she nodded towards the man, "you must tell me if he is warm or cold to the touch."

There was a nod, and without hesitation he was at John's side. It was comforting to see the man move, showing that he was coherent, and even more so that what Gisborne had said about him earlier was nothing more than a lie.

"He's warm," Will replied, and Djaq found herself looking at the vials once more. Another question was asked, another answer came, a simple conversation between them as she narrowed down her choices. Finally there were two she was certain of, and Djaq made her choice, pulling free one of the smaller ones. She held it up to Marian, so that the woman could see it.

"Can you get more of this, do you think?"

She did not want to voice that this alone would not do any good. If John had an infection, which she suspected he did, he would need several doses of this for the coming days. Marian, however, had no doubts, and was already nodding.

"When I spoke with Matilda she told me we would need more. She will sneak more to some of the others," she nodded towards the door, Djaq already understanding what she was trying to say. She had not met this woman, this Matilda that Marian spoke of. But she seemed to trust her, so Djaq knew that she must do the same. Quickly she emptied the pouch on the floor, the remaining vials clinging against each other as they rolled on the stone floor. Unwrapping a length of fabric about her arm, Djaq carefully bound the single vial, tucking it back inside the pouch, lacing it shut. When Will was ready, she reached through the bars, and flung it towards him.

They were far enough away that the pouch fell short of his outstretched hands. It caused her to wince, hoping her administrations earlier had been enough to keep the vial safe. It was a relief to see that they were, Will removing the vial and uncorking it eagerly as he moved back to John. With some help, he was able to get the man to drink it all, the tension between them all dissipating a bit.

"He will start to feel better," Djaq told them all, trying to keep her spirits up. For all of them, their fates could change so quickly, and without notice. She knew, that for now, they were lucky the sheriff was choosing to indulge in gruesome pleasures. They would all be dead otherwise. Instead they were alive, given time to think, to plan. She was not the only one with these thoughts.

Will, she had noticed, had been occupying his time when the jailer was not about. He sat to one corner, using a piece of broken metal to work his way at a length of wood from within his pouch. The guards had taken precautions in removing all of their weapons, but hadn't thought to look twice at a carpenter's simple pouch of wood shavings. But she knew, unlike them, that Will was good with wood.

He had said nothing to the others. Though Djaq could imagine they had all seen him. Perhaps they thought he was merely wasting away time, but she had seen that look of determination on his face before. Then, she supposed she was the only one who spent her free time watching the man. As she was doing now.

With John being tended to, Will had taken up his usual corner, leaning against the wall as he reached into his pouch. The wood was pulled free, no longer than the length of his hand, about two fingers in width, a design just starting to take shape. The bit of metal he had was small, and awkward to hold she could tell. It had already cut him more than once, for she had seen him tend to his fingers afterwards. But even so, she had not breathed a word.

Perhaps that was due to fear of him being caught, or maybe it was more because she was afraid to allow her hopes to get too high. What he planned, she did not know, and maybe there was no plan at all and so it would be foolish to even ask after it. Perhaps it was his way of passing the time, a way to keep himself sane down here in the darkness.

She let out a sigh, sitting against the wall as she took her portion of bread and water from Marian. Sheer strength alone had not done them any favors in finding a way out of here. And they were losing strength, and soon, she rationalized, they would have no hope. The thought left her with a grimace as she tried to push it from her mind, attempting to keep a more positive outlook on the current situation. They were few, but definitely there.

John was getting help, due to Marian's connection to friends in the outside world. The rest of them were healthy enough, and all of them held the same desire to escape. It was Robin who had said that divided forces were weak. And now, even with a potential enemy within their midst, Djaq knew that was no disadvantage. It only caused to strengthen their numbers.

Coyly she looked to where Will sat, hunched over his work, fingers moving quickly. She couldn't see the wood anymore, the limb too well hidden by both the darkness and his own hands. Slowly she chewed the last bit of bread before swallowing, allowing herself a few sips of water before pushing the cup back towards Marian who took it without question.

"You have a plan?"

She had to know, with all the guesses in her head it was driving her mad. Even if he did not, at least she would no longer have to wonder. Will stopped in what he was doing, meeting her gaze for a time before he turned away, distracted from his task.

"Not really," came the confession. The sigh worked its way through her lips, and she nodded. Of course there was no plan. What could be done with a simple piece of wood?

"I can't pick the dungeon locks," the man continued, his voice quiet. She could hear the frustration under there. Will had been able to break many locks before, but the locks here were different than others, perhaps the strongest in the castle. Last time she had not worried about the lock, she had simply melted the bars. But that was some time ago, the mixture hard to come by, and even more difficult to make.

"I've done it once before," Will caught her attention once again, holding up the piece of wood in front of him. "I was able to make a key…but then I had something to compare it to. Now…it's just guess work. I can feel it almost working, when I try. But I can't see what I'm doing, and I don't know if it will even work, or if something will happen. If it breaks, if I cut away too much, or not enough and it gets stuck…"

His words trailed off into a sigh, hands falling back into his lap as he clutched the bit of wood. She knew he was frustrated, knew that he was grasping at ideas that were hardly there. But one idea was better than nothing at all, and she found herself smiling.

"Be patient, Will Scarlett," she reminded him, "you can do this."

She said it for all of them. To encourage him, and she could see that it had worked, for the smile that crossed his face was genuine and not forced. Yet she was no fool, and knew that the chances of it working were slim, and knew the risk behind things if he was caught. She did not like the idea of the danger he was putting himself into, but she also knew that part of being an outlaw was taking on certain risks. And if it meant getting all of them out of here alive, then it was a risk she knew that had to be taken.

**TBC**


	25. Memories

**Sorry for the wait, RL has been a little crazy. Many thanks goes out to Kegel with her help on this (and the title for the chapter). **

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**Chapter 25: Memories**

Robin shivered as he wrapped the fabric about his shoulders. The material was thin, offering little warmth, and he brought himself closer to the fire as another bit of wood was added. The flames crackled, sparks drifting into the air before disappearing into the sky that was slowly starting to turn to dusk.

Adding the final log, the man sat down across from him, shaking his head. "You're lucky I came this way when I did, you could have drowned. What were you doing anyways?"

"Nothing," Robin answered quickly. "I fell in."

Across from him, Dax raised an eyebrow. How the man had managed to find him, Robin could not say. He claimed to have been returning from an earlier errand, which by all means could be true given the fact his horse was saddled and equipped with a variety of goods. The same goods which allowed for the fire, the dry blanket, and bit of food.

Robin had wanted to return to the manor after he had been pulled from the river, but Dax had somehow managed to convince him to stay and warm himself. While he hadn't wanted to stay, he was too edgy to argue otherwise. So he had given in, stripping from the rest of his wet garments in order to dry them, and wrapping himself in a blanket the man had to offer.

"You must fall in a lot of rivers then," Dax shook his head. "Seeing you managed to remove and store most of your clothes and weapons before they became wet."

Of course he wasn't going to divulge his real reasonings, but Robin hadn't paused to think that one over. Of course the man would not believe that he had simply fallen in. He forced a smile, letting out a laugh as though he was ashamed to admit the next part.

"I went for a swim. I just did not realize the current would be that strong."

That explanation seemed reasonable enough. He could play to the fact he was naïve, a man who was clueless to how nature worked. Even more sound reason to why he would claim falling in, as the fact was embarrassing enough to try and hide what really happened.

"Right," Dax muttered quietly, and it was clear that he was still skeptical. Robin would not honor him the favor of explaining. This, he reminded himself, was the man who had taken Much. And it was not just one man he had taken, but many, Robin assumed. For why would he simply stop with just one, when the market here obviously paid a great deal for trading people?

"Not exactly the weather, or the time to go swimming. What I wonder even more is why you chose the river here, when there is a lake just beyond this bend."

"Certainly the inquisitive type," Robin ground out, shifting to find a more comfortable position. He brought the blanket about him tighter as he fought off another chill. The conversation was becoming more uncomfortable with time, and he was close to leaving despite what the other man said about his staying here. Though he wondered if that was at all wise.

They were related, Dax and Alfred, as father and son. And without doubt supported one another. If Dax found him to be a threat, how long would he have before the son carried a message to his father? And what good then, could he do?

"Better to ask than it is to hide, and sneak about," the man answered with a shrug. He held up something then, Robin taking a moment before recognizing what it was. When he did, his mouth ran dry, and he forced himself to turn away, pretending that he did not even know what it was.

"I haven't seen one of these in years. The mapmaker my father hired met an unfortunate end. Sad thing was that he was good at his job. He just became too greedy."

He wasn't sure why the other man was telling him this. As a warning, or a smug taunt, he could not figure. Instead he watched as Dax unfolded the bit of parchment, Robin saying a little prayer to the fact he hadn't made any changes to the map himself.

"It's quite old," he muttered, "there's been a few changes. Though I have a feeling you already figured that out for yourself."

"What does it matter?" Robin could hardly stand it anymore. If he was found out, there was no point in denying the truth. Even less was there a point in trying to return to the manor. So he was surprised to hear the other man laugh.

"You think you are the first person to come here poking his nose into this business? In this area, everyone knows about the mines, but no one talks about them. But it is not uncommon for scoundrels to try and get in on the profits. What reward the sheriff would give if he only knew of this place."

"The sheriff doesn't know?" Robin wondered curiously.

"He does," Dax paused, as if trying to find the right words, "yet he has no proof. He will not speak out against a noble, especially not Alfred, who happens to be one of his largest sources of taxes for the shire. Alfred holds a strong vote against him in the running for his position. The sheriff will not question him."

"So he will pay a large sum if someone could offer proof to what is happening here?"

"Not only a reward, but then the sheriff could take over the mines for himself, have villagers work them in accordance to the law. It would be a drop in profits for the mines overall, but the sheriff would gain nothing but profit. And with Alfred condemned as an outlaw, he would hold no power over the sheriff's position."

"But he could pay a king's ransom," Robin suggested. There was no doubt that Alfred had more than enough money to do so. The fee would be paid, the man pardoned, and then everyone would turn a blind eye to the mines once more, as though nothing had ever happened in the first place.

"The king is not here, as I'm sure you are aware. Prince John keeps an eye on the land in his stead, but neither Alfred nor the Sheriff of Devonshire are loyal to him. Alfred would pay the fee if the prince requested it, but I think he fears his lands would still be seized even if he did so. The mines mean more to him than anything else in the world. He would not stand to lose it so easily."

Most likely the prince would take the mines for himself. If the king had any knowledge, he would see this place brought to an end. But John operated on a different schedule, and did not harbor the same feelings. Still Robin was left confused, unsure of where he stood now. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Part of my…duty, is to keep an eye out for certain things. Those who might bring trouble here is only one of them."

"You think I am here to cause trouble?"

"I think you have something planned, but those are only my thoughts."

Robin nodded, taking this in, noting exactly which words had been chosen. "Your thoughts, which means…"

"I have no reason to tell anyone else," Dax finished for him. An offering of peace perhaps, but still came the question as to if he could actually trust the man or not. "At least not yet."

Now he was beginning to understand, and he felt himself laughing a little. He shouldn't have seemed so surprised. "So, what is it that you want from me?"

Dax said nothing at first, watching him instead. Then he finally spoke, but it was not what Robin expected. "Just be careful."

It was all he said, moving to his feet as he collected his things. Robin watched, curious as the man fastened the saddlebags, mounting the next moment. Before riding off he turned back to him, offering one last piece of advice.

"Get rid of any evidence that anyone was here. And tell no one that we've spoken."

* * *

He smiled as she held it up; the small bit of fruit seemed even more tantalizing under the torchlight. There was a grin on her face, as she laughed a little as she held it out to him. "There is one left, would you like it?"

He hadn't had fruit in so long. Aside from tonight that was. And it was a wonderful treat to have; everyone could agree with that. After so many suppers of bread and cheese, the bowls of fresh fruit had been more than enticing. Much had enjoyed a few, and despite his desperate want for the last piece, he shook his head. He knew Eleri wanted it just as much, and the funny thing was, he wanted her to have it.

It wouldn't have been that way back at camp. Back with the others, he knew. Had it been Djaq, he wouldn't have thought twice. But she was somehow different. She most certainly wasn't one of the lads, but then again neither Djaq, he supposed. But despite the fact she was a woman, she was still very much part of the gang. Eleri, of course, wasn't, and he wondered if that was the reason behind it, or if there was something else.

"You don't want it?" she asked, surprised. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, trying to keep himself from blushing. He wasn't sure how he could explain that he wanted for her to have it.

"You always want the last piece," she pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yes," he agreed, knowing full well that was true. He also knew this situation was getting more awkward by the minute. He wasn't sure if he liked it, but then there was also the strange realization that he did not want it to go away.

"Fine, we will share it then," Eleri prompted, bringing the strawberry up to her lips. She took a small bite, leaving most of the berry intact as she held it out towards him, Much taking it with a bit of a smile. But he did not eat it, not right away.

"What is it?"

She was always onto him. There was nothing he could hide, and dully Much wondered if this was how it would always be. He wouldn't mind, he supposed. Robin, he knew, preferred to keep things quiet, but Much, on the other hand, preferred to speak what was on his mind. Yet while he preferred it, he wasn't sure why he was having such difficultly to say so now.

He had been in better spirits since he had last spoken with Robin. Much knew that Eleri could tell, although he had not told her why. He wanted to, but he could remember Robin's words, and figured the man would be angry with him if he did. So he had said nothing, and the truth of the matter now was that he almost felt as though he was lying to her, and he didn't like that feeling. It felt wrong. But wouldn't it also be wrong to break the promise he had made? Much sighed. He was never good at this sort of thing.

Still, she watched expectantly, and Much wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say. He wanted to promise her that things would be okay, that they wouldn't have to be down here for much longer. But that, he figured, would be close enough to breaking the promise, and Robin would be angry with him. Then he wondered if she would even believe him if he told her.

After all, it had been her who had said all those things. He didn't like to think of Robin that way, hadn't wanted to, but somehow he hadn't been able to stop himself. Was she right about what she had said? Now Much could not be sure; there was still the feeling of reverence for the man, and he wondered if that would truly ever go away. So much of his life was affected and influenced by the other, it was impossible to just forget him.

Yet Much couldn't blame her for saying those things either; she just didn't know Robin like he did. If she could only meet him, or at least understand him…understand that he wasn't like the people she had seen. Maybe she would understand, he reasoned, if he told her about him. He could try, but would she even listen? And where would he even start?

"You remember what you said?" he asked then. He supposed he caught her off guard; the look on her face told him as much. "I mean, about me not understanding about what you've been through?"

"Oh, Much," she shook her head, "those were just words. And it was some time ago, do not worry yourself over it."

"No," he shook his head, "I mean, what you said," he paused, flustered. It took him a moment to gather himself, to figure the easiest way to say this. Then he realized that there was no easy way to say it. He let out a sigh, "Robin was not always my master."

She was shaking her head, moving to speak, but he beat her to it, trying to encourage her to listen to what he had to say. Somehow he had to make her understand, but there was no hope for that if she would not even listen. He could see the irritation in her eyes, but she no longer argued with him, and Much turned away, trying to recollect his thoughts.

"We met about ten years ago, I was…" he paused, frowning now. "I don't remember how old I was, I don't even know how old I really am now. I've never had a birthing day, not a real one at least," he rambled, recalling the times that he and Robin had done something once every year. Although he doubted that was his real birthing day, rather more of something that was simply invented because Robin was insistent on the fact that Much did indeed have one, even if he couldn't remember it.

"I was in service to another man, by the name of Hamon. He ran a tavern, an inn, in one of the towns. I can't," he stopped, then shook his head, "I can't remember what the name was."

He could remember the place well enough, how the tavern had sat on the outskirts, just as one entered the town. It was relatively busy throughout the year, more so towards the autumn when crops were ready for harvest and the stalls filled to the brim. There had been a lot of fascinating sights to see, some travelers coming from all different parts of the country, some even across the seas or so they had said. He had been just a child then, easily impressed by stories. Well, he sort of still was, he realized with a small grin.

"That is where I grew up, my parents I guess…I suppose they died, or couldn't take care of me. My master…Hamon, never told me, and I guess I never figured to ask," he explained. "I helped to take care of the place, running errands and doing chores. I learned how to cook, and mend, sew, all the things one should know."

"For a servant, you mean," Eleri interrupted, and Much nodded.

"That was what I was," he agreed. "I was born into it. I wasn't like you, I wasn't…" he stopped himself, shaking his head. "That doesn't matter. It's just what I did. And I got food, a place to sleep, warm clothes, a few trinkets. When I was older, my master had me assist travelers, for a fee. Most of the time they were merchants, needing help to carry goods to the market, or wanting someone to take care of the animals they had brought along. Other times there were nobles who had not been able to bring their own servants along, and Hamon had no qualms in selling me for a price. I was still expected to fulfill my own duties, as well as seeing to those who paid."

This had been most common around the autumn, and he was but one of the few servants from the inn who took on the extra work. Much had not particularly cared for any of it. The merchants were hardworking men who frowned upon dawdling or idling about, always complaining about how time was money. There was hardly a time that he had to himself, and many meals had been missed working out in the rain at the bidding of another.

What was worse was the fact that he had been at an awkward age then, constantly tripping over himself, making a mess of things. It felt with each and every turn he was somehow responsible for something going wrong. And when it did, it was without doubt that his master would hear about it. And Hamon had never been happy to hear such things. The man had been quite greedy and never enjoyed letting go of his small fortune, despite the fact it hadn't been earned by him. And that was not the only thing.

"He was not generous, Hamon," Much told her. "The only reason he had me working to help others was because he wanted the money. More than what they paid, I mean. The first day I was to help a man, he was a merchant, come to the market to sell flour, Hamon pulled me aside. He wanted me to steal the man's purse."

"Did you?"

Much nodded, remembering just how terrified he had been. The merchant had been a huge man, built like an ox and possibly just as strong. He had been shaking so hard when he had untied the string from the man's belt after the man had fallen asleep that the purse nearly had been dropped. His greatest fear had been on waking the man, or what would happen if he did. Much could remember racing from the room as fast as his feet would carry him, nearly falling down the stairs and throwing the purse on the table, never wanting to do something like that again. It was ironic now, considering all that he had done this past year since his return from the Holy Land.

"And since it had worked the first time, he expected it every time."

"Were you ever caught?"

He nodded again. Yes, he had most certainly been caught a few good times. The first time he had blamed Hamon had been the last time he had done so. His master had left him with a beating so severe that Much hadn't dared to utter such a phrase ever again. The following times when he was caught, Much had been careful to bite his tongue, and simply let others think he was nothing more than a simple thief.

Then he supposed he had Hamon to thank, for the man was the only one who kept him from losing a hand, or worse, being dragged off to the dungeons. The man was always quick to calm the angry patron, going on to explain how Much was not right in the mind. It was humiliating to listen to, but then Much gathered that being humiliated was better than losing a hand, or worse. Yet Much doubted it was out of the kindness of Hamon's heart the man had done so. Hamon simply couldn't use him if he was to lose a hand.

"I'm sorry," Eleri told him quietly. Much shook his head, pulling himself from his thoughts.

"It was the way things were," he stated with a shrug, as though it hardly bothered him. "That was how I met Robin."

He could remember that day well. Much had been in the stables, repairing a saddle for one of the horses when he had ridden in. Though he was close in age, Much had been awed in how dignified he had been. Robin held himself like a lord, which Much had never doubted in the first place, but he had seemed so young. Much had been left with a shilling to tend to the animal, which he did with haste before making his way into the inn, only to find Robin bartering with Hamon for a room.

One thing Hamon had always told him was that he had an ability to swindle men. He had told Much that men of such nature that came to these places were waiting, and wanting to be swindled, and that it was their duty to do so. Well, Hamon's duty, really, Much figured. So he had been surprised to hear the usual price drop, a much lower fee being accepted. Hamon had been irritated, even more so when the offer of providing a personal servant was turned down. It wasn't until Hamon offered Much's assistance on the house that Robin had given way and finally agreed.

Hamon only wanted the money. This was no favor on his part. He knew that nobles were far richer than merchants, and had expected Much to get the money. So he had done what was normally expected of him, except that things were…different. For starters, Robin had hardly any wares on him, having traveled so light. So any assistance he offered was turned down. This had left Much edgy, wondering how he was supposed to figure out exactly how much money the man had, if he could not even see _what _he had.

But that was forgotten when Robin had asked for the tour of the town. He had been detoured, apparently, from his original course in return to his village. He had been on business, and on his return the bridge had been washed out, leading him well out of his way. Robin had been tired, hungry, and somewhat despondent, but he had hardly complained.

"He was not like the others, he was young, I mean, that was unusual, yes. But that wasn't all that was different. He was…" he paused, thinking for a moment. "He was kind."

Though Robin had meant to stay only one night, it ended up being several. More than once he had bid Much to ride out with him, circling both the town and the outskirts, simply talking. This was a change for Much, who normally was snapped at to keep quiet, and often ignored. And it made his task all that much harder, but he did as he was asked, and talked about whatever came into his mind. Robin had listened, interjecting his own thoughts from time to time on whatever had been said. By the third day Much had positively run out of things to say. It was then the man had confessed his reasons for being there, bringing to light the fact his mother had just passed away.

After that, Much wasn't sure what he was to do. Hamon expected the money, and Much doubted the man would care about what Robin had been through. It didn't feel right though, stealing from a man who had not only been kind to him, but who had also suffered a great loss just recently. He couldn't say that he understood, for Much had never lost anyone he considered to really love, but he could understand the pain he saw in the man's eyes.

"I didn't want to steal from him," Much confessed quietly, "but some things you just can't change."

By that time, theft had been so ingrained into his mind that Much was rummaging through the man's belongings before he really even realized just exactly what he was doing. The bags, however, held only a few odds and ends, trinkets that would fetch no value and earn only a cuff alongside the head from Hamon if he were to bring it. Then there was the purse, the one Robin had kept near him the entire time.

"He caught you?"

Much nodded. He had been halfway through getting the purse free when a hand had seized his wrist. There had been stark fear then, worse even than the first time he had ever swiped a purse. The cold, hard look in Robin's eyes had sent a shiver through him, and the small blade he held did nothing to suppress his fear. When Robin had demanded to know what was going on, Much had been so frightened, had felt so guilty, that he had confessed. A trained confession, one with words he had chanted to himself in his sleep. The ones he had used on all the others. But Robin hadn't fallen for it.

"What did he do?"

"He wanted the truth."

He had confessed, the second time for real. Why Much had told him, he couldn't say. Robin had listened, and when the last of the words had been said, he had let him go. Then he had ordered Much to leave, a request that Much had been all too happy to fulfill. That night had been quiet, but in the early hours of the morning, when Robin had come down from his room, Much had known that things would go ill.

"So I told him the truth," Much continued, chilled slightly at the old memory. It had been so long since he had ever thought of that day. "There has been only a few times in which I have seen him that angry."

That had mostly been during the war; the one other time was in the forest with Gisborne. The same, ferocious anger had been there that morning. Robin had been civil in his words to begin with, but when Hamon had tried to argue, Robin had taken other matters.

"He convinced Hamon to let me go."

"So he could have you instead," Eleri pointed out. But Much was shaking his head.

"I chose to go."

He hadn't wanted to stay there. There was no telling what Hamon might do to him once the man recovered his wits. But the problem was the fact he had nowhere to go. Robin had bid him to come with him to Locksley, at least long enough until he figured out what he was to do. Much had agreed, though it was due more to not knowing what to do than anything else. Then he had still been wary of Robin, hadn't known on what terms they stood. Several days into their travel, Much had gained the courage to ask him.

He had figured that Robin would be angry with him. But the man had not been, placing Hamon at blame for all that had occurred instead. Robin had made him promise that he would not blame himself, to which Much had agreed, once again out of not knowing what else to say. Shortly after that, Robin had requested he not speak of it again, and so Much had not. It was about a week's time after he had been at Locksley that Much had asked to stay. And Robin had agreed. When Thornton had tried to argue the matter, stating there was no room for another house serf, Robin had gone about making Much his manservant.

It was later that same night, that Thornton had approached him, had encouraged him to take care of Robin. The man needed a friend, Thornton had told him, even more so now after all that had happened. Much had done his best, or so he liked to think.

"He saved me from that," Much told her quietly. He felt awkward now, as she was watching him.

"You could have saved yourself."

"Maybe," he agreed, but he wasn't quite so sure. If it had not been for Robin, perhaps he still would be there today. He had gained a lot more courage over the years, though he wouldn't exactly call himself brave. That was Robin's specialty, as many other things were, but Much supposed he had learnt some of them as well. Yes, Robin had changed him, had made him a different person than who he once was. He let out a breath, turning to her, trying to gauge her reaction as he spoke.

"You see…not all masters are bad," he hoped that was enough to convince her.

"Maybe not," she agreed, though lightly. "But he isn't your master now, and isn't here. Alfred is, and you won't see him doing anything of the like. We should get some sleep."

He wanted so badly to correct her as she lay down, facing the wall, her back turned towards him. If only she knew, knew that Robin was indeed here, that he was here to help. She would know, soon enough, he supposed, turning to his own bed for the night.

Yes, soon enough, she would know.

**TBC**


	26. Allies

**Many apologies for the very long wait, it's been so difficult to write lately, but I finally managed to get it finished. Many sincere thanks to everyone for being so patient (yes, I'm not ignoring the requests to update – I'm actually glad there's people that enjoy it enough to bug me to update). **

**So, here it is, and thanks to Kegel for the beta. Leave a comment if you're still here (after all this waiting)**

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**Chapter Twenty-Six: Allies **

Despite his efforts, Robin could not come to a decision about what had taken place by the river. He had taken Dax's advice, had kept to himself and spoken to no one, and the few times they had crossed paths, the man hadn't even looked in his direction. It was as though nothing had even transpired between them. Perhaps it was a good sign. Still, Robin was suspicious. And why should he not be?

He could not spend forever here. Nor could Much wait for that long. And Robin felt an ever pressing need to return to Nottinghamshire. There was no telling what was going on back home in his absence, and he could only hope that others were doing alright. They would help out where they could, no doubt, but he wondered if it was enough.

While the need was growing stronger each day, Robin knew that he could not be rash. The notion might have come from war, or the fact that his life in the forest left him on edge that led him to believe that there was some sort of trap waiting for him. Maybe the others were watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. It felt as though they were scrutinizing him, watching his every step. Then again, that could be nothing more than simple paranoia. Robin believed that was the reason he had agreed to this without thought.

So it was in the early morning that he found himself saddling a horse. It had been a long time since he had done so. Horses were always readied in war, and upon his return to England, the horses they stole were often already saddled. Not to mention that Much usually had done this as well, back before they had left for the Holy Lands. The movements felt strange, but Robin could remember well enough how it was done. By the time Dax came for him, he was ready.

"We'll be gone most of the day," the man warned, hoisting himself on another horse. "I hope you've eaten."

He hadn't, but it hardly mattered. Missing a meal was not a foreign concept for Robin, and he let out a smile as he lied through his teeth, mounting his own steed. With a quiet click, he urged his horse to follow the other, blinking in the early morning sunlight.

They followed the long path that led through the woods, and out past the village of Sherwell. A few villagers glanced their way as they rode by, but hardly any took note of them. Before long, the buildings and peasants disappeared, and they found themselves riding through an open field, along the edge of the forest that concealed the river. There was a cool breeze, rustling the leaves, the sounds of the birds in the trees, and of the horses that carried them, but other than that, there was only silence. Dax showed no indication of feeling or emotions, a trait that left Robin on edge.

Dax had not explained what exactly they were doing, or where they were going. Only that it was a matter of business, and that he could not go alone. His thoughts drifted back to his earlier suspicions of a trap, and subconsciously his hand drifted to where his dagger was. Why he had not come more prepared he wasn't sure. Now he was beginning to regret it.

A trap, however likely it might seem, was an odd thing to consider given the time to think. Had Dax wanted to give him away he could have easily done so already. Why make things more complicated? Unless it was a matter of personal reasons that the man wanted to take care of. That thought worried him even more, an ache in his hand forming as he tightened his hold on the dagger.

They carried on in a slow, but steady pace, and for the better part of the morning Dax held the lead, glancing behind only a few times. Robin believed that this was to ensure that he was still following, but on the last glance, he realized the man was not looking at him, but beyond him. It caused Robin to make a quick turn as well, seeing the road empty and bare behind him. A few moments later he pulled his horse to a stop, realizing that he had nearly passed the other man.

"I don't think we're being followed."

Robin raised an eyebrow. "Are you expecting us to be?"

The man shook his head, letting out a sigh as he nudged his horse along once more. This time Robin kept pace with him, waiting for the other to speak. And he did, once a few minutes had passed on by.

"I don't expect it, but I would be a fool if I did not check. Considering Alfred, that is."

"But he is your father."

"There is no need to remind me," Dax gave him a tight smile. "It makes no difference. I could be as honest as the most loyal subject every time, but the one time I let down my guard and go my own way would be enough to do me in."

"He does not know you are out here?" Robin was catching on quickly.

Dax let out a sigh, "He believes we have gone to gather more supplies. There is a village about an hour from where we are now."

"I take it we are not going there then?"

"We are," came the answer, with another quick look over his shoulder as he slowed his pace. "Eventually, that is."

Suddenly the man pulled on the reigns, turning the horse from the path and towards the woods. Robin followed, quiet as he too scanned the horizon for any signs of prying eyes. It hardly mattered, for only moments later they were surrounded by trees, following a hidden path that led into the forest.

It was overgrown, the horses unsure of their footing at first, but confident as the ground did not waver beneath them. Dax led the way, coaxing his horse whenever it came to pause, until eventually they reached a wider road that was poorly maintained. Here they could ride abreast once more, and the tension that the man had shown earlier all but disappeared.

"So, where are we going?"

He was surprised to see the other man smile, but he gave no answer. Instead he spurred his horse on, Robin having to do the same to keep up. They rode like this for a time, slowing once they rounded a bend. The forest opened up, a small village encased by hills below him. Dax was the first to stop, and Robin followed his lead, watching the villagers go about their chores.

It was easy to assume that this was a different village than the one Dax had spoken about earlier. Either he would have not taken such great care to avoid being seen. Still the man had not answered him, but Robin figured that he would soon find out.

* * *

He had hoped it was worth it. It wasn't like he owed the outlaw anything, due mostly to the prospect that they couldn't even stand one another. Part of him wondered how he had even survived this long confinement with the lot, given to how they had received him on the first day they all had been taken captive. Whether or not they believed him, Gisborne had had no real intentions of capturing them. The thought of bartering them in exchange for Marian had been a loose prospect that had entered his mind after his original idea had not gone as planned. There had been no real malice on his part. There was certainly no love lost between them, but Gisborne could care little for taking them prisoner at that point in time. His concern had been about Marian. And he had achieved little.

Why she cared so much for these men was a mystery to him. They were outlaws; pathetic creatures that smelled and were little more than annoying nuisances, meddling with every mission and operation they had. Gisborne supposed that they were in fact part of the reason for his ending up where he was now.

But Marian felt for them. As she felt for every blasted living thing there was. And so by sacrificing himself to another day in the stocks, he gave a chance for the other man to live. Somehow he felt Marian would approve. How, he wasn't certain, but he had a good feeling about it. At least it was one good feeling he had. The rest of him was feeling quite the opposite.

Most of the interest had withered away. There were still a number of peasants who parted with their hard earned money to pelt him with fruits and other leftovers from the castle kitchen, but they were few in comparison to the first times he had been subjected to their mercy. But the lack of projectiles was only bitter relief, as the temperatures grew warm and the sun began to burn his skin. Shortly after he found himself parched, wanting for something to wet his lips even if it was only a swallow of foul water. Then there were the common aches, the ones you knew were going to come, and that were always worse once they arrived. Before long, Gisborne was trying to remember why he had volunteered for this.

He was reminded, if only briefly, that he could be back in the dungeons. Away from the prying heat, free to move around the small enclosure, free to stretch and even doze to pass the time. How had it happened that his life had been reduced to this?

Gisborne thought of the nights back at Locksley Manor, the warm fire, the fresh meal prepared by Hood's servants. He could remember the sweet irony of calling the place his, while the man suffered in the woods, shivering in the cold and clamoring for something to eat. Sweet irony…now a cruel one with the thought that Gisborne was now the confined one, and Hood still able to move free. But then it was said that he was dead.

There were mixed feelings about this thought. Uneasy ones he was not accustomed to. For quite a time now, Gisborne had longed to see the outlaw dead. Even before the man became an outlaw, a warrior in the crusades, had Gisborne wished for the same. When he had slipped into the Crusaders' camp that night, and had spied Robin, the haughty lord who everyone praised, and prayed for a safe return, Gisborne's blood had boiled.

For years he had been the Lord at Locksley, overseeing the lands, making sure that dues were paid and punishing those that failed to meet demands. That happened often, it seemed. Hood had allowed his peasants to get away with not fulfilling their dues, had allowed them to become indolent. Which meant Gisborne had to be twice as harsh to see that things were done as expected. They should have been grateful for what he had done. For it was through him that he had prepared them for what the new sheriff could possibly do. Yet instead, all he heard about, was Robin of Locksley.

That anger was still there. Robin was of no importance, yet everyone acted as though he was some sort of deity, a figure that should be honored and bowed before at the simple sight of him. Robin evaded the law, flouted it, interfered with matters that were of no concern. And yet, it felt as though Robin Hood was his only hope now.

Gisborne could not bring himself to listen to the rumors. While the outlaws were silent about the matter, Guy had a difficult time believing they would all be so calm otherwise. Why Robin had failed to show as of yet was unknown to him. Perhaps the outlaws was enjoying the spectacle…but no. He would not abandon his men, nor would he allow the villagers to suffer in the way that they had recently been. But if that _was_ true, then why had he not come already?

The others knew something. Gisborne would find out. The idea they were hiding something from him was outrageous. After all, it was clear the sheriff did not trust him anymore, so what use would it be to spout off any known information? It would gain him nothing. He would learn what secrets they were hiding, make new plans, and find a way out of this ordeal. Somehow he would, even if he died trying. Even death was better than living a life in this hell-hole.

* * *

He knew who it was even before he arrived. Even still, he was surprised to see the man here. Irritated, was more like it. Jasper was one of those men who thought highly of himself, and all because he had been hand-picked to be one of Prince John's special envoys. Vaysey had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting him back in the day when the prince had handed out the shires. How that seemed so long ago now.

He grabbed an apple on his way over, flopping into a chair with about as much grace as he considered appropriate, and bit into the fruit, nodding his head in greeting at the other man. Jasper watched him, frowning at the apparent lack of courtesy. But he said nothing to that manner, straightening in his chair as he folded his hands in front of him.

"I saw the most interesting thing when I came through town," he started.

Vaysey took another deep bite into his apple, responding even as he chewed. "Oh really? What was that now?"

"There was a man in one of your stockades, he seemed quite familiar."

To this, Vaysey grinned. He had forgotten that Gisborne had even been out there. A shame too, as it was, for if he had remembered, he would have taken the time to visit. How lonely Guy must be, with no one for company save for ruffians... Of course, there was always the leper… Gisborne took a liking to her. Vaysey was still smiling. "Pay no attention to my former Master-at-Arms," he waved a hand, pretending to have not a care in the world. "Goes to show what happens to those that displease me. After all, when I say that I want results, I do mean it."

"From what I hear, it was Jacques' idea," Jasper stated mildly. To this, Vaysey frowned. So Jasper had already spoken with the Frenchman. He could only guess what they had all discussed. Slowly he set the apple down, his appetite suddenly weaned.

"Why are you even here?"

"Prince John sends his regards, naturally," the man shrugged as if visiting here was no big deal. "The last shipment of taxes arrived on time, and in full payment. That hasn't happened for some time now, at least not from here. It seems like his decision to send Jacques was a wise one. Look at what he's all accomplished in a mere whisper of time since arriving."

That was hardly of his doing, Vaysey mused. Hood had been the number one reason taxes hadn't gone anywhere in the time of his return. Chaffee had nothing to do with that. In fact, all of Hood's men had been captured before the Frenchman had even arrived. So one could say that it was all of his doing, and Vaysey was already making a move to point that much out. But Jasper had already moved on.

"The prince also desired to know how things are developing on a more, personal level. Your reputation, as I'm sure you know, is well known. The reason why the prince installed you here in Nottinghamshire."

To this, Vaysey nodded, a grin back on his face. So he still held favor with the prince. That was a good sign, one that was better than he could have hoped for. Maybe there was even a hint of favoritism there. That would be a very good sign.

"That was his concern, you see. Jacques is not only an envoy, but a friend as well. I should hate to think what would happen if anything ill befell him. Wouldn't you?"

Vaysey hadn't the faintest idea of what might have transpired between Chaffee and Jasper. Vaysey had taken care to watch his step around the man, had seen to nearly his every need as long as it was within reason, had also gone along with all his plans and ideas to appease him. Some of them were good, he had to admit. Others he couldn't care either way. Now he was begging to wonder if he should have shown more enthusiasm behind them. No doubt Chaffee pronounced his lack of involvement and support, and that, Vaysey figured, would not sit well with the prince.

"I'm a certain that Jacques discussed with you what would happen if it did?" Jasper prompted, and Vaysey nodded.

"He was quite clear on that."

"Good," Jasper was quick in responding. "As we have that sorted, I am sure there will be no unforeseen incidents. I also happened to come to understand that Jacques has done another remarkable feat, in capturing the outlaws you had so complained to the prince about."

He tried to hold his temper in check. It was difficult, but he somehow managed. "There must have been a misunderstanding," he shook his head. "Capturing the outlaws was my accomplishment. I'm certain if you speak with Chaffee, he will tell you the same. If there is any truth in him."

"We are not here to start a petty argument," Jasper warned him. "The outlaws are captured, and the threat is under control. Except for one, I hear. That Robin Hood himself is not amongst those taken prisoner."

"I do believe that I had made a public announcement stating he was dead," the sheriff reminded him.

"But you have no proof."

"The fact that he is not here, is that not proof enough? Hood would never stand for any of this, for any of his poor subjects to suffer. Since he is not here, the only conclusion would be that he is, indeed, dead."

"That might be enough for you," Jasper interrupted, "But it is not enough for the prince. He requests visible proof that Robin Hood is indeed dead. And no, a written proclamation stating so will not work."

"There is an entire forest out there, he could be anywhere, let alone buried for all we know," Vaysey began to argue, but was cut short once more.

"Then perhaps you should start searching, sheriff, if you wish to retain that title, that is. It has also come to our understanding that while you might have the outlaws captive, their camp, and stores, are still unaccounted for."

"So what if it is?" he growled, angry at the thought of having to undertake this new task. He was certain the outlaw was dead, but even if the man wasn't, what did it matter? As long as he wasn't being the constant thorn in his side, he couldn't care less.

"Might I remind you, that it was you who claimed that Hood had been taking the lot of your taxes. So one would come to the conclusion that it is still hidden somewhere. Prince John would very much like to see it return."

"We have tried before to find his camp, and hidden stores. The results were not well received."

"Ah, yes. But that was before, when Robin Hood and his men were running amok through the woods. Now, according to you, they are no longer doing that. Your men will be under no threat, and I do believe that you will make considerable process if you actually prioritize your time and interrogate a few of the prisoners that you do have. Showcases them in stockades, by all means, is amusing, but there is little you gain from that once the novelty has worn away."

"They won't talk," Vaysey muttered quietly. He had learned that before, that prying for answers was quite unnecessary. He supposed it was also fair to say that he was still slightly afraid of what might happen if he tried. Jasper was right in the fact they had no proof that Robin Hood was dead, but what other outcome could it possibly be? If he wasn't dead…casually he glanced down at the scar on his hand, remembering how it had gotten there. It was minor thing, but Vaysey had also seen what Locksley was capable of. And if nothing bound him here, and Robin by any chance heard he was in difficulty with the prince, the man might not hesitate to retaliate if any of his men were harmed.

"The only way they won't talk is if you cut out their tongues," Jasper reminded him, moving to his feet. "Not a method I encourage, of course. Not until they talk, that is. I will be coming back this way in a month's time, you have until then to get things sorted out, and the prince expects results. Good day to you, sheriff."

Vaysey watched as the man left, growing angrier by the moment. With every turn he couldn't possibly imagine how things could get worse, and yet, they always seemed to do so. And now he was stuck with the impossible task of finding both a person and places that seemingly could not be found. Unless of course he took to Jasper's suggestions, suggestions which he was now starting to consider very carefully.

* * *

The food was unexpected, but welcomed as he finished the last of it. Any uncertainty he had before was now gone, relaxed as he was despite being a complete stranger. Robin leaned back in his chair, taking a swallow of the ale that was provided, watching as the rest of the dishes were cleared from the table.

Her name was Jane, a young widow who had lost her husband in the crusades. Robin could sympathize. He had seen many of the like, and understood how difficult it was to lose anyone in such a way. Having been there, on the battlefield, had taught him one of many lessons.

"Had I known there would be company, I would have made more," she announced, coming back into the room. She offered Robin another glass of ale, which he declined. Dax, however, was more than eager to accept. There was a smile on his face, a gleeful emotion that Robin had never before witnessed with the man.

The early tension that had been with the other had dissipated as well. All of it had seemed to melt when they had reached the small house, a warm and hearty greeting awaiting them. Dax had simply introduced him as a friend, and Robin had done well to keep to himself, watching from afar the banter that had taken place between the two. Now, however, he found himself leaning forward, resting elbows on the table.

"It was wonderful," he reassured her. It earned him a smile as she left the room once more, leaving the pair alone. Robin had his own thoughts why they were here, the look in Dax's eye easy enough to understand. What he couldn't quite understand was why he was here as well, remembering how careful and suspicious the man had been before, as though all of this was some sort of a secret.

"This is what I want," the man spoke suddenly. His voice was quiet, but not overly so that there was any difficultly in understanding him. Still Robin found himself frowning, raising an eyebrow in question. Dax explained himself.

"The other day, you had asked what I wanted."

Robin gave a nod. Then he had mused it would be some sort of blackmail. But when nothing had been said Robin had come to the conclusion that things had been forgotten. Apparently that was not so. "Go on."

"I'm worn out from the work I do," Dax was quick in explaining. "I'd much rather live like this. Marry, have children, a boy maybe, I'm not sure. I would even find a new trade, even if it meant I spent the rest of my life working."

"Then why don't you?" Robin was failing to see how any of this involved him. Dax was shaking his head though with a scoff.

"My father would never let me leave. No one ever leaves the mines, and when I was found here, I would not be the only one to suffer."

Now Robin could see why Dax had taken such precautions. He had heard of the rumors before, that no one ever went free, but he had assumed that reference was to the actual miners themselves. Now it was apparent that everyone was as much a slave as the workers. Still, it led to another question.

"What does this have to do with me?"

"I know you're up to something," the other man pointed out. "And I think you might have a plan. I want to know what it is, and how I can help."

"You would turn against your own father?"

There was little point in trying to deny his intentions. His gratitude was centered on the fact that no one else seemed to know yet. How much longer that would last if he did not agree to any terms, Robin could not be sure. But at the same time he saw little harm in securing in ally.

"Father only by blood," the man reminded him. "There has been no love, and I would not have known any different if I had never been told. Alfred considers it a privilege that my brother and I work where we do. His intentions are for us to take over the mines once he is gone. Eloy, I know, would jump at the chance, but I would rather come here, which I believed for a time would work out fine. Now recent events have led me to believe that might not be possible at all. Alfred's been favoring Eloy the past few years, and taking more interest in him these past months. I do believe my father is leaving everything to him, and if that's the case, I will have no say in what happens to the mines, or even to me."

Robin took all of this in with a single nod. The explanation made sense, and he felt more at ease in trusting the man. There was the faint reminder that the only reason he was here was because of Dax, but the resentment that had built up before was now wilting away. It would do no one any good to be bitter about things that could not be changed. And what the man was asking was simple enough, something that Robin could honestly honor. A simple life, and heartfelt love. Two things that Robin often missed himself.

"Tell me about the waterwheel," he said suddenly, lifting his gaze to meet Dax's. There was confusion on the man's face, but when Robin prompted him again he nodded.

"What about it?"

"How does it work?"

"It's built underground, set in a cave that is lower than the rest of the mines. It's a system of fears that turn together, powered by the river."

"How is that possible?" Robin had seen waterwheels before, ones that were responsible for grinding flour in mills. But they sat in the river, never underneath.

"Where you were the other day," Dax began to explain. "There is a grate, that leads into the cave. The opening is marked with wood that rises and falls with the river, to keep the cave from flooding. The water goes through the opening, into the cave, and turns the wheel. It bails the water back out, to another area. I'm sure you've seen the lake on the other side of the hill?"

Robin gave a nod, remembering vaguely that he had passed by it on one of his perimeter runs. He hadn't given it a second look.

"You won't find that lake on a map. It's not supposed to be there. It's the water collected from the river, and the mines."

"So the cave is flooded?" Robin was starting to catch on as Dax nodded.

"Partially, but the flow of water keeps the wheel turning enough, and never gets too far behind."

"So if the wheel did stop…"

"It wouldn't," the man cut him off. "After the first time it happened, Alfred started to make sure to have it carefully maintained. His investment is quite expensive, and he wouldn't want to risk it like that again."

"But _if _it did," Robin pressed again. "Would the mines flood?"

"They would start to, but the problem would be caught in time to prevent anything big from happening. The children would be sent to bail water again while the wheel was fixed, and things would go back to normal. That is what the grate in the river is for. It regulates the flow of water, so there is never too much coming in at once."

That would be a problem. Robin had held the idea of possibly flooding the mines, which would lead to an evacuation. But if the mines could never be flooded….he found himself frowning. What was it Dax had said?

"It regulates the flow of water," he repeated, looking up at the man. "What if it stopped?"

"If the gate was open all the way, like it does in the summer when it is dry, there could be potentially a problem. I can't say, it's never happened." Dax was watching him, shaking his head. "You mean to?"

"I can't see Alfred just closing the mines because someone asks politely," Robin pointed out. "And you said in order for the sheriff to do anything he first needs proof. But what constitutes as liable proof, and further more what prevents him in taking sides with Alfred to keep the mines open in order to garner a profit?"

"I don't think-"

"You said yourself that there is only once chance in doing that right. My theory is we close the mines another way. We shut them down. Get everyone out of there."

"Alfred will not allow them to go free."

"When they are above ground, there will be no stopping them. First we need to find a way to get them out, then we worry about technicalities."

"And if he doesn't allow them to come up? We just drown them all?"

Robin shook his head sharply, "Alfred will let them. Trading and marketing slaves is a dangerous business, and suspicious as that. It would take him years to replenish the workers he has now, and that would draw unwanted attention. He wouldn't stand for his mines to be out of operation for that long, and wouldn't want to risk himself in being caught."

"Would it be any less suspicious to let near a hundred workers roam free?" Dax wondered, watching him. But Robin was not put off, having already thought this one over.

"He would figure he could keep them contained somewhere else. Think about it. If the mines are flooded, and the workers die, not only will Alfred have to find replacements, but also find a way to dispose of all the bodies. How easy would that be to do, do you think?"

It was a gruesome thought, but he could see the other man consider it. In truth, this theory was rough, an idea Robin had come up with over time. Even now he wasn't sure if it would even work, having yet to see everything himself. It was based off of theory, and other waterwheels he had seen before. He couldn't be certain until he knew exactly what he was looking at, and how much time they really had if they decided it might actually work.

He heard Dax sigh, and turned to meet his gaze. The man was silent for another moment, but finally spoke. "So, what do we do?"

**TBC**


	27. Collapse

**Many thanks to those who read and reviewed, and of course to Kegel, my ever-faithful beta, who puts up with my crazy ramblings, my insane ideas, and all of my mistakes. **

**On to the next chapter - Don't forget to add your thoughts :D**

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**Chapter 27: Collapse**

It had been nearly a week, and for a time he was worried. He hated waiting, hated not knowing even more, but said nothing, knowing he could not risk asking. After what felt like an eternity, the signal finally came. It was the same boy again, the one who had come before. It was when no one was looking that he came near, setting a bucket of water down by his feet. And he motioned to the caves with a nod. Much nodded back, showing that he understood. Even so he waited, until the others had finally gone to sleep. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he got to his feet, and left his area.

The only time he stopped was to grab a torch to light the way. He knew he could go without one, but Much didn't like the idea of being in that large cave without one. Caves were bad enough as they were, but this one had a sheer drop, an unpleasant feature that made it even worse. On knees and elbows he worked his way through, careful to not hit his head, pulling himself free at the other end of the narrow tunnel. Robin was already waiting for him, but Much expected it would be like that. Robin had the easy way of coming in, climbing straight down.

"Is there a plan?"

"I don't even get a hello?" Robin wondered, raising an eyebrow in the dim light. Much frowned. He hated when his master was like this. Acting as though it was a social call, like nothing was even going on. It was galling, infuriating. It was a surprise to hear the other laugh.

"Don't worry, I have a plan," Robin reassured him. "At least the start of one."

"Why is it that you never think these things all the way through?"

It wasn't that he doubted Robin, quite the opposite. The man had proven himself successful in such endeavors far more than once. What worried Much, however, was the fact that most of these plans involved him somehow, and usually in an unfavorable way. Something always went wrong, and Much wasn't sure if he wanted to be a part of it this time.

"I don't see you offering any suggestions," Robin pointed out. He had to agree with that, and did so with a sigh.

"What are we going to do?"

Robin didn't answer, and when Much was about to press him again, the man held up a hand. That was when he heard it as well: something, or rather someone was coming. They were no longer alone, and Much did not miss the dagger that Robin pulled free as they both turned. There was no place for Robin to go, and they would both be caught down here, and Much realized the seriousness of this situation. Whoever it was, could not go free, not after seeing the both of them here.

It had been a long time since he had fought, but the memory of it had never really left him, and he stepped back, ready to lunge the moment the intruder appeared. But when they did, he found himself at a loss, confused, and speechless. The same could be said for the other, who stood now in a halfway crouch having just crawled from the tunnel, mouth agape as eyes shot from one to the other in confusion. It was then that Much finally found his voice again.

"What are you doing here?"

Eleri didn't answer, not straight away at least, as she slowly rose to her feet, her eyes on Robin instead. Much turned, watching as Robin let out a sigh, putting away his dagger, concluding the previous threat gone.

"Much," he shook his head, his voice quiet.

"I didn't know she was following me," he protested quickly, glancing back to her. She was standing where she had come out of the tunnel, still quiet as she regarded the pair. Much turned back to Robin, shifting under the man's gaze.

"I thought I told you not to tell anyone."

"I didn't."

"Is this-," Eleri started, but stopped when they both turned to her. After a pause she started again, "Is this who I think it is?"

Much swallowed, turning back to Robin. He hadn't said anything, but he wasn't sure if Robin believed him or not. The man was still at first, but finally nodded, and Much guessed as well that by now it could do no harm in telling her the truth. Still he was nervous, because he had not been given a chance to explain. He knew how Eleri felt about masters, and doubted that her mind had changed since the last time they had spoken.

"This is Robin; the one I've told you about," he nodded towards her.

"Your master?" she wondered.

"And you must be Eleri," Robin concluded, "Much has told me about you as well it seems."

To this she said nothing, simply watching the man, as if in some sort of trance. Much took a step closer to her, reaching out for her, but she pulled away, shaking her head. "What are you doing here?"

"He's come to help," Much actually felt himself smile a little. She could not find fault in Robin for that, and he said it with almost a hint of pride. "We're going to get out of here."

"You have a way out?"

"I have a plan, I do not know if it will work," Robin explained simply. He seemed uncomfortable, an unusual trait for the man.

"But you found a way in, in here," she took another step closer. "I want to know; there has to be a way out."

"You can't leave now."

"Tell me," she pleaded, her voice rising. Much stepped out to grasp her by the arm, to try and calm her down.

"Eleri wait, listen to him," he started to explain, to point out that he could not go either. But she would not listen, instead she turned to him, fury in her voice as she spoke.

"You don't understand. You haven't been down here for very long. But I have been down here for years. I've been a slave, trapped down here, unable to see the sun, or breathe the fresh air. I'm done waiting. I may not have another chance."

"If you leave now, you'll be caught," Robin warned her, holding up a hand. "You'll risk everything, and you might even be killed."

"Better to die up there, than down here," she pointed out, trying to push past him. Much was holding on as best as he could, but it was Robin who stopped her from going anywhere.

"And the others? I have a plan that might set all of us free; are you willing to risk that?"

"All of us?" she shook her head in disbelief. "I haven't seen you working down here, breaking off your back and living off of bread for all your efforts. I don't care about the others. I want to get out of here."

Her answer was sharp, a cold, unsettling sting hitting him in the stomach. Much's grip was lost on her, and she must have noticed the change. Eleri turned back to him, her voice softer than what it had been before.

"I did not mean you."

Much slowly shook his head, trying to forget what had been said. Of course he had been foolish to think anything would happen between them. Once they were free, she would no doubt go her own way. After all, she had her life, and Much had his, and now it was apparent more than ever that they were separate lives, despite everything they had been through.

"If you leave now, Alfred will never stop searching for you," Robin was speaking again, breaking the tense silence. His voice was stern, the one he used when lecturing before a mission, a steady and serious tone. "You'll constantly be on the run, you'll never be able to live a real life. If you help me now, we can get everyone out of here, and you'll be free, to do whatever it is that you want without fear or worry. All I'm asking you to do is wait, a little longer. You must trust me."

Eleri was quiet, rigid where she stood, as if unsure if she should trust him or not. Much saw Robin look over her, to where he stood, and Much understood easily enough. Somehow he found his voice, quiet though it was.

"I trust him," he prodded, "and you should trust me."

Slowly she nodded, letting out a pitiful sigh. "What do you plan to do? No one's ever left this place, not alive. You can't get us all out, there is no way."

"There might be a way," Robin answered, watching her closely. She seemed to hesitate, unsure if she should listen, or disregard him completely and simply try to fight her way out despite what had been said.

"I'll need your help, the both of yours," Robin continued when nothing was said. "When the time comes. Whatever happens, I will not leave you here."

Much nodded, already understanding that these had been Robin's intentions all along. Eleri was still silent, unmoving as he watched her. Quietly he cleared his throat, a quick glance back to where Robin was standing. "You should trust him," he prodded her again. "I do."

That, he supposed, was easier to say than to do. Much couldn't tell what her thoughts or feelings were, but he could guess they weren't pleasant and inviting. He could only hope she would agree. If she didn't…he wasn't sure what Robin would do. Let her go, maybe, but that would risk more, would it not?

"Alright," she finally answered, a new determination in her eyes. "What do we have to do?"

* * *

It was good to see the change. As maddening as it was to not be able to oversee him herself, Djaq could note a clear difference. John, no doubt, was still weak, his strength taken away from the fever, but he was improving. And with rest, he would be back to his old self in no time. The medicine they had gathered had been enough, but the worry that was with her was that it would not last for long. John would not be the only one to fall ill under these circumstances, and that she was certain of. John had been lucky; with the guards too afraid to go near him, they had been given a wide berth, and any assumptions of his sudden recovery would be placed on chance. But if all of them became sick, only to get better, questions would be raised, and their supply of medicine would be discovered.

For now, it was hidden, under the folds of the tattered blanket that had been given for both her and Marian to share. It was a temporary solution, but they could not last like this.

Her worries only increased when the door above opened, the sounds of footsteps echoing in the chamber.

It was too early for the others to be brought back yet. Gisborne and Allan had been taken above to endure another day in the stocks. Had something happened, there was doubt in her mind that the men would be brought back to the dungeons. No…the sheriff did not operate that way. Unless he had come to gloat. She would not put that past him.

The jailer was the first in the room, fumbling with keys as several guards followed. The sheriff himself had come also, and for a moment her earlier fears were thought to be confirmed. But the man didn't seem as though he was preparing himself to gloat. Instead he watched them all thoughtfully, hand resting on a chin as he turned from one cell to the next. The others in the cell across the room appeared just a languid as she and Marian, having not even acknowledged the newcomers.

"What one, milord?" the head of the guards addressed finally, having grown impatient waiting in the silence. This perked her interest, but also her fear as she crept a fraction closer. What were they looking for? Had the sheriff finally come up with some other form of entertainment he was eager to try? Djaq studied the man's face, a frown creasing her own. He did not seem as though he had, the usual delectation absent from his features. Instead it appeared he was busy making a tactful decision.

"One of the ladies would do," the jailer suggested, a grin spreading across his face as he met Djaq's gaze. Immediately she pulled back, repulsed by the comment as she drew back next to Marian. She too, had a pale expression on her face, hidden from their captors only by the dim light that surrounded her.

"No," the sheriff was quick in dismissing that. "The leper wouldn't know anything about it."

_Wouldn't know about what?_ The thought crossed Djaq's mind, and she turned quickly to Marian who only shook her head. The message was clear. Whatever the reason was for the sheriff to be here could not be good.

"One of them, then," the head guard motioned towards the other cell, where John and Will sat attentively. John was against one wall, Will towards the back. The man was trying his hardest to keep his gaze averted, and suddenly Djaq knew why. This wasn't a social call…the sheriff must know about the key. Had the jailer seen something? Or worse…had Gisborne given them away in order to gain favor with the sheriff once more?

It would make sense; Gisborne wouldn't have remembered who they were, not by name. All he would have been able to say was that it was one of the men.

"Not the big one," the sheriff was quick to catch the jailer as he moved towards the cell. The guards were close behind, weapons drawn and ready to act if either of the two tried to bolt. The sheriff pointed towards the back of the cell, indicating the other. "Grab the skinny one, less trouble."

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, deafening in her ears as she tried to keep her breaths even. She had to do something, she couldn't let them take Will, but what could she do? Already the door was being opened, and both John and Will had made it to their feet, a struggle more for the first than the second. But no sooner had it swung open a step, that the first of the guards were already inside.

Two were at John, pinning him against the wall with a third standing by should they need any help. Will dodged the first guard that came after him, colliding with a second as he tried to get away. There was a brief struggle, but he was knocked down easily, his resistance dying as a sword was brandished, resting at his neck as his hands were bound.

Djaq moved, a broken piece of rock in her hands as she came against the side of the cell, ready to heave it towards one of the guards. It never left her hand, Marian behind her, stopping her movements, a hand closing around hers. Immediately she tried to pull away, but the woman held her strong. Djaq was surprised to notice just how much strength she had, chiding herself a moment later, memory reminding her that Marian was no ordinary woman. Still, it did not cease the struggles.

"It will do no one any good," Marian's warning hissed in her ear.

"We have to do something!" came her reply. By the time this had been said, the cell had already been secured, John was at the front, yelling and spitting insults as Will was taken away. The carpenter had not given up his struggles either, creating his own commotion as he fought against each and every step. Where were they taking him? Had their time finally ran out, was he to die?

Djaq knew this was always a possibility, but she wasn't ready to accept it. Not like this, not with Will…

She pulled out of Marian's grasp, dropping the rock in the process, the weapon clattering on the floor. Quickly she dived for it, scrambling to her knees as she moved to the other side of the cell, ready to let it fly. It would do no damage, nothing serious, she knew, but if she could distract them, somehow give Will a chance, even if it was a small one…she would take that chance. It didn't matter what happened to her. If only one of them were able to get away, that was all that mattered. Will mattered, at least to her.

But it was too late. Will was already gone, the last of the guards disappearing up the stairs. Only the jailer was there, giving her a sneer before turning away and following. Djaq shook her head, letting the rock drop a second time with a soft cry of despair. She had been a prisoner all this time, but had never felt this trapped until now.

* * *

He was tired that morning when he woke. Not a surprise seeing how little he actually slept. The time spent with Eleri and Much, discussing the potential plans, had lasted far longer than he expected. Questions had come up, some that he could answer, and others he ended up confessing to knowing nothing about. The truth was, even as of now, Robin had not attempted anything on his own.

Dax had explained how the logistics of the mine worked in quick fashion. It was not the sort of discussion to be had while visiting Jane, and when they had left there and tended to the market, there had been nothing further said about it. Things had gone even more astray upon arriving back in Sherwell, with Dax taking his leave and pretending as though the two hardly even knew one another.

It was a cue Robin took well. Temptation had been there to see to the room straight away. But he had resisted, waiting until the night to slip back down into the mines to first speak with Much. Eleri's arrival had been unforeseen, but perhaps not completely unfortunate. And the thought gave him cause to smile.

It was good to know that Much had not been completely alone during his confinement here. It lessened some of the guilt, knowing that the man had not only found a friend, but someone to love. Much was in love. As much as the thought made him smile, Robin could also feel the regret brewing up inside of him. He missed Marian.

Coming here had been an easy choice; had he not, then Robin would have never been able to forgive himself. But in choosing to come, he had also chosen to give Marian up. How he would deal with that when he returned…Robin wasn't quite certain. He didn't dwell on these thoughts for long, choosing instead to put his efforts to the problem at hand.

Shortly after eating, and dressing, he found himself back down in the mines. A rain had started sometime while he had been asleep, drenching the earth and creating a heavy feel to the air around them. The change in temperature was another noticeable feature, and Robin pulled the cloth around him a bit tighter as he made his way further into the mines.

The morning was spent as usual, keeping in step with Nathaniel and overseeing the work that was being done. Since Robin's arrival, there had come another couple of men who had been sold, and assigned to the lot working among these mine shafts. It was hard to cope with, the knowledge that what he was going to attempt was becoming harder with each passing day.

A rough estimate had left Robin assuming there were close to a hundred workers. That was the same as a thriving village, or even a small town. And if that wasn't difficult enough to deal with, then came the factor that there were also children, and Robin was certain there would be guards as well, ones who thought and felt similar to what Dax had confessed earlier. How many would be on his side Robin would not know until it came down to the end.

There would be deaths; Robin knew this to be true, and could not disregard it no matter how much he longed to. War had provided him with enough bloodshed, and if there was a way to prevent any blood from being spilt here, then he would take that option. But it was unrealistic to believe it would be an in and out mission. Alfred, and others, such as Eloy, Latimer and Mercer, men who were right hands to Alfred himself, would stop at nothing in order to keep the mines working to garner the profit. A few casualties would mean nothing to them. And they were not the only concern.

In battle, there were ranks; everyone had their own job and responsibilities to tend to. Even with the others, back in Sherwood, a structure had been formed. It was the only way, within reason, for anything to be achieved. If they all ran amuck, doing one thing or the other without any real direction, there was little doubt in Robin's mind that they would all be dead long ago.

But these men…and women here, were different. They were slaves, servants to a man who was neither caring nor compassionate. Most, if not all, only knew how to function within these walls. Bringing them above, in a moment of chaos, would, without doubt, lead to utter panic. This had been part of the discussion shared between Much and Eleri the night before.

Eleri claimed to know that a few of the others would be willing to help the others escape. If that was true, then it was Robin's hope that the courage of a few could override the sheer panic that would no doubt spring forth. There wasn't a lot to work with, something Robin was very well aware of, but what other choice did he have?

Getting them out wasn't the only concern he had. There were questions as to what would happen afterwards. Many of the people he knew had nowhere to go. Some might have family, somewhere, but as for the children, who were orphans, and those who were alone…

Perhaps the sheriff of Devonshire would be willing to assist. Once the mines were closed, and proof presented of the wrongdoings that had taken place here for so long, there was a good chance. Even if it was only to maintain the favor of the populace in such trying times. But then, if the sheriff had a mind close to that of Vaysey's, there was little point in trying to discuss matters with him.

When the break came, and the miners were given their meal, Robin took the opportunity to slip away. A few tunnels in he came to a stop, reaching into the folds of his tunic, and pulling free the map he had stowed away. In the flicker of the flame, he surveyed it, eyes straining to see the faded patterns and where they led. The tunnel should be close by, if the map was correct by any means.

It was difficult to say, the map that was hard to read in daylight was twice as hard to read now. Robin could recall some of it by memory, but not all of it entirely. Not to mention it would be so much easier if he could actually see more than few feet in front of him. He brought the map closer, as if that would make a difference, but let out a sigh as the results ended up being the same.

Rhodri might remember the way. He had been to the room before, the one with the waterwheel, but it sounded as though that hadn't happened for some time now. Years, possibly. How good of a memory could the boy possibly have? It was worth a try, but it would be risky. If he could not find Rhodri down in the mines, the two of them would have to sneak down during the night. It was no chore for Robin, who had nearly perfected it by now, but the thought of bringing someone else along, a child especially, gave him a pause to reconsider.

Robin froze as he heard the sound, a distant faint echo that he couldn't quite place. For a time he stayed where he was, listening, watching the shadows, waiting for it to come again. There was nothing, apart from his breaths and the rushed beat of his heart that pounded in his chest. He waited a few more breaths, and then pushed the thought to the back of his mind. If he was being followed, he could simply confess to getting turned around.

He would try again later, alone, when there was more time. Nathaniel would expect him back, believing he had stepped outside to get some fresh air. Tucking the map back into the cloth, Robin turned back around, retracing his steps. There were a few others he passed, other guards and workers that were finishing their meals, moving to get back to work. There were still several hours of work yet to be done before the night came. No doubt the guards of each lot wanted as much done as possible.

As he passed into an open area, a cross-section between the tunnels, the same, strange sound came again. It was faint, almost sporadic, and there was something strange about the area around him. What it was, he couldn't place a finger on it, but Robin knew something was wrong. He had that feeling, the one that stuck with you when something was out of place. It felt like…almost like it was harder to breathe, like the air had grown heavy, just as it did before a heavy rain.

Robin started forward again when the silence had gone on for a time. He still had that feeling, something he couldn't easily shake, but he was beginning to wonder if he was simply imagining things. His senses had gone overboard at the slightest of sounds, and now he was paranoid. That would explain everything. He was convinced of it. If something was wrong, surely there would be more of a commotion.

Instead there were the voices, calm and lingering as they always were, the steady thud of the picks and shovels that tore at the wall echoing around him as he drew closer. He could feel himself relaxing, the tension easing from his shoulders, the hold on his weapon falling away. It was an old habit from war, nothing more.

Yet as soon as he convinced himself of this, it came again. Louder, stronger, and more definite. Not only could he hear it, he could feel it as well. The ground was moving beneath his feet, a light, but steady motion that caught him off guard. Now the commotion begun, with cries of alarm echoing through the tunnel, shouts of warning that were lost as rock ground against rock. Robin took a quick step back, blinking as the air began to turn solid from the dust and bits of rock that were falling.

In the second it registered, he also knew that it was too late to try and do anything. The tunnel was collapsing.

**TBC**


	28. Escape

**Many thanks to my beta Kegel, who did this in a hurry so I could get this up (Be sure to thank her). Love the reviews, its great motivation. Longer chapter this time (To make up for some of the short ones)**

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**Chapter 28: Escape**

He couldn't see, it was that dark. The dim realization was coming to him even after he opened his eyes. He could feel the ground beneath him, pressing against his cheek, fingers digging into dirt as they curled into fists. Memory evaded him at first, several agonizing seconds passing as he started to piece together what had happened. Slowly, with hesitation, he moved to his knees, bracing himself with his hands.

He could hardly breathe through the cloth, and so pulled it off, regretting it almost immediately. The air was thick with debris, heavy and almost solid as he broke out into a coughing fit. Feebly Robin reached up to grab the end of the cloth, pressing it against his mouth and nose as he tried to calm his shaking body. He could remember what had happened, and knew that he needed to find a way out. The only problem was the fact that he still could not see, and he had no idea where he even was.

Robin had gone as far as he could when the first of the tremors started. Now he couldn't remember if he had gone towards the main shaft, where the entrance was, or towards the caves where the miners slept. That thought pained him, not necessarily because he was lost, but more so because he knew there were others trapped down here with him.

Much was among his first thoughts, but there were others, too. Women, children…what had happened to them? How far had the cave-in occurred? How many had already died?

The memories of Treeton sprang into his mind, knowing that the village had suffered more than its fair share of losses due to the dangerous trade. But there was always a way out, there was always help for them, friends and family…there was none of that here.

Robin let out another series of coughs, leaning against one of the walls of the caverns. His eyes had still not adjusted to his surroundings, and they burned, Robin blinking fiercely to try and clear them of the dust that wafted in the air. He tried to listen, to see if he could distinguish any sounds that would tell him something. There had been others around him when he last remembered. Surely there was someone here now.

He waited a few more minutes, allowing time for the coughs to die down, and hoping by chance he would hear something. When nothing came, it was apparent he would be on his own in finding a way out. For a fleeting moment he thought of Much, wondered if by any chance he could find the man. That task, he feared, would be near impossible.

It was difficult enough when things were well. Nathaniel's group compassed this shaft, as well as several of the neighboring ones. Garner's lot, the man Much was scheduled under, occupied the tunnels towards the ends of the mines, almost side by side with the cave in which they slept. In order to get there, Robin would have to also pass through Fletcher's section, which was another group of tunnels. He knew the way by memory, but only first by knowing where he was. Without knowing that, he couldn't figure out what direction to even take.

He closed his eyes, unable to see anything anyway, his breath hitching in his chest as he tried to think. A warm heaviness was beginning to settle over him, and despite his situation he felt strangely calm. By sitting here, taking a moment to catch his breath, he was feeling better, he was feeling…tired.

Robin sat upright, opening his eyes to once again find himself surrounded by cold reality. If he fell asleep now, there would be no telling what would possibly happen. He needed to move, one way or the other he had to stay awake. If he could find someone, or at least an area of the mine he recognized, then he could figure out what way he needed to go. Stumbling to his feet, Robin kept himself braced against the wall that was to his left, and using that as a guide, he started walking.

His steps were slow, awkward, several times stumbling over debris. Several were large chunks of rock, others were loose piles of what he assumed to be coal, stuff that had already been mined and had been ready to be taken above. Robin had been walking for several minutes before he found the first body.

He had tripped, Robin knowing straight away what it had been. The skin was cold to his touch, and fumbling in the dark he could already tell there was no breath being drawn, nor was there any pulse. Drained, he sat where he was, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.

Robin was no stranger to death. He had seen it many times, had caused it even more while on the battlefield, fighting for the king. Even his return to England hadn't stopped all his killing. The war had curbed it, no doubt, but there were times still where Robin hadn't been able to control himself. What was odd now was the feeling. He felt empty, useless, having done nothing to prevent or change any of this. It was a clear reminder that he needed to act, that something had to be done. Slowly, he began to move forward again, still using the wall as a guide.

He walked in the darkness like this for a time. His pace was slow, with careful steps to avoid falling, and he stopped to check the few bodies he passed, but all were the same. How could it be that all the people that were around him only a short time ago were now dead? Why had he been spared, when the others were not? The thought stayed with him, even when he saw the first hint of light. Robin quickened his pace, following it, relieved almost to have found something different, to be able to see no matter how little it was.

Now he recognized where he was, back in the central shaft, the ladder leading up through the gloom and to the ground above. Grasping the rungs he started to climb, moving faster as he neared the opening. There were hands that grabbed him, and helped him up the last few steps, and Robin sank to the grass below his knees as he let out a sigh of relief.

The air was fresh, cool and inviting as he pulled away the cloth, now sticky from his sweat. It caused his throat to tickle, and a fresh bout of coughs sputtering from his lips as he sat there. A hand fell on his shoulder, and he glanced up as another guard knelt near him, offering a swatch of cloth and indicating to his forehead.

"You're bleeding," the man informed him, and Robin recognized Nathaniel's voice. Looking closer now, he could see the man under all the dirt and grime. It clung to his features, his face brown, almost black, with dirt clinging to his eyebrows and beard, as well as saturating his hair. He too showed signs of injury, spattering of dried blood on his clothes and some coating his face. Robin theorized he most likely looked of a similar state as he pressed the cloth against his head.

Now he could feel the pain, and he winched, checking himself over for more injuries as if the thought just occurred to him. His sleeve was stained red, the cloth torn just above the wrist, and there was another, similar injury to his knee. But nothing felt broken, which was a relief in itself.

"What happened?"

The question was an odd one to ask, seeing Robin had more or less deduced for himself what had taken place. Yet he wasn't sure of what else to say.

"One of the tunnels gave in," the man offered up as an explanation. He had taken Robin's arm, pushing back the sleeve to look at the fresh injury. "We're not sure how far the damage extends."

"We have to go back down there," Robin muttered, remembering the few bodies he had come across. There was no hope for them, he knew, but if he had survived, then surely some others had as well.

"It's too dangerous," Nathaniel shook his head, using a fresh cloth to clean the wound. Robin flinched at the unexpected pressure, his eyes narrowing.

"There are others down there, we have to help them."

"No one goes down into the mines until we'll told otherwise."

"We can't just-"

"The others know what to do," Nathaniel cut him off promptly, his voice firm. The man finished tying a bandage around his arm, pulling back. "This is not the first time this has happened, trust me. The workers go back to the caves, and wait there. The guards and children come back here. And we wait."

"How long?" Robin was growing frustrated. He could not just sit up here and do nothing while others were suffering below. Some had already died, others were wounded, no doubt. How bad off was Much? Was the man even still alive? The thought made his breath catch. Of course he was…he would be fine, had to be fine. Garner's area was a good distance away from Nathaniel's, surely the cave-in hadn't spread that far.

"We can't be sure," the man confessed, "It might be a few hours, it could be a few days."

"Days?" They could not wait that long. Even for those who were unharmed, it would mean several days without food, without water. People would starve. "What about the workers? How will they eat?"

"There are stores down there," the man reassured him. "Did you think we wouldn't have any provisions? Any sort of plan? I've told you, this has happened before."

It was hardly a reassurance. Robin didn't want to dwell on it, instead he wanted to act. How could he lounge around up here, when there were others in need of help below? Lives could be saved, but only if they responded quickly. By the looks of it, no one was intent on helping. Many of the guards had left the area completely, returning to the manor. Robin was one of the few who remained, and he winced as Nathaniel took a look at his leg.

"It's not deep, but we'll have to clean it inside, before infection sets in."

"You seem skilled at this," Robin muttered, taking the hand that was offered to him. Before, in the mines, he hadn't noticed the pain. Now he was wincing with each step.

"I happen to know a little about medicine," the man admitted. "Seems to come in handy with this job. Let's get that taken care of."

Robin lingered, long enough to turn back. He could see several men guarding the entrance. He doubted it was to keep anyone from entering; only he was crazy enough to consider going back down there after what had happened. Perhaps instead they were waiting to see if any of the other guards, or children, appeared. And if it was a worker? Robin shook his head. They wouldn't have allowed it.

He needed to get back down there. But the question was how. It had to happen soon. He would not be able to rest, conscience aside, he wanted to make sure Much was alright. He had the feeling that it was going to be a long night, and the sun had yet to even set.

* * *

He was fuming. His steps were erratic as he paced, back and forth in the room, fingernails digging into the flesh of his hands as they clasped behind his back. The two guards stood motionless by the door, both ready to bolt if given the word of dismissal, but neither moving for fear of incurring even more wrath. Working for the Sheriff of Nottingham was not an easy job; in fact, it was a downright dangerous job, especially at times like this.

Finally the man stopped, his breath coming out in a snort as he faced them. Vaysey scrutinized them both, and then held up his hands.

"Explain to me, one more time, exactly how this happened?"

The two guards glanced at one another nervously, and then the first spoke, clearing his throat as he did so. "We took the prisoner to the upper level as suggested. The key wouldn't work, to open the cell, so I offered to take a look."

"And while you were looking…at a key," Vaysey continued, "Who was watching the prisoner?"

"I was," the other man admitted in a grimace.

"And what happened then?"

He was speaking in a soft, gentle voice, like the one a parent would use to scold a child. The guard shifted, squeaking out a reply.

"He got away…?"

"He got away," the sheriff nodded, and then laughed, amused. Nervously the guards laughed too, feeling for the first time a bit of relief since coming here. Reporting bad news to the sheriff was often met with unfavorable results. But it felt like he was taking it well. The sheriff was laughing still, an uproarious chuckle that suddenly turned into a yell.

"HE GOT AWAY!"

Vaysey glared at them, the anger apparent in his eyes. The man was short, coming only to their shoulders but he was far more intimidating than anything they had seen. Quickly they backpedaled, coming to a stop against the wall.

"There is now an outlaw on the loose, one of Robin Hood's men, roaming the streets. The very same man you were supposed to question. And you let him get away!"

"There…there are others, milord," the first guard stammered. "We could just get one of them-"

"So that you can let them escape, too?" the sheriff demanded, his tone rising. "A clue? No! We will not be doing any of that. Keep them down below, don't even open the cell."

"What about the ones in the stocks?"

It was a legitimate question, and the sheriff came to a stop in his tracks. He was silent for a minute, then turned, glaring at them both. "Get them back down to the cells. Now. I will not have the wretched beast running around making plans with them. And if you let any of them escape, I will personally have your head adorned on a spike in the market for everyone to see!"

Quickly they nodded, shuffling for the door in a hurried motion. The sheriff's voice stopped them again, and they waited with bated breath, fearing the worst, the fact that the man had changed his mind. It was known to happen. They watched, as the sheriff sat, holding up a finger.

"When you finish with that, I want this outlaw found. I want him brought back to me, I want him unharmed. Do you understand?"

His voice was lethal, and the meaning was clear. The guards nodded. Another close one. The sheriff waved his hand, excusing them, and without any hesitation they were through the door. The first of the guards sighed, turning to look at his companion.

"Next time, when I suggest we just leave, we should just leave."

"The sheriff would have found out sooner or later," the other defended, knowing that most of this was his fault. He hadn't expected the wiry man to be so strong. Even now, his jaw still ached. And that was while the man was bound.

"But we would have been long gone," the first argued. "Since we're still here, we better get the others inside."

"Poor brutes," the guard let out a sigh, following his companion. It was bad enough to work for the sheriff, but to be on the wrong side of him was even worse. The outlaws, Robin Hood's lot, were definitely on the wrong side. Now there was one running free. And that thought, worried him.

* * *

He grabbed the bowl that was thrust at him, cradling it against his chest with one hand as he held out the bandages in the other. They were taken, one a time, wound tightly against the wound and tied off. The man winced, but quietly thanked them as they withdrew. Much followed Eleri's lead, the woman kneeling next to another worker who was favoring his leg.

It had been like this. Much had felt it, rather than saw, as the walls trembled around him. He had sat in confusion, while the others were already scrambling about. Had it not been for Eleri dragging him along, Much would have most likely stayed where he had been.

All of them had made it without injury. Everyone in their lot was accounted for, Eleri grouping everyone together and leading them to their corner. There was no sign of Garner, or the other guards, but Eleri stated that was to be expected. And it was; for all the people that followed were other miners, some walking in unharmed, others limping, and a few being carried.

Much hadn't known about the stores. They were packed away in the back of the cave, a couple of barrels of stagnant water. There was some food, too, dried meat of some kind, but it was unappetizing and he paid little heed to it. There had been another crate, full of old clothes that were quickly converted to bandages and cloths. And the wounded were slowly tended to.

Eleri was not the only one who knew something about healing. Some of the other workers were doing similar motions as her, cleaning wounds, while others were collecting water for drinking. Much was scared, but he trusted Eleri, and did as she said.

The cloth was dipped into the bowl again, and used to clean another wound. The man beneath her hands groaned, and Much could see why. The open gash was large, to his midsection, and was bleeding heavily. Eleri took another swatch of cloth, and pressed it against the opening to try and staunch the bleeding, but she was shaking her head.

"You would think they would at least give us proper supplies to work with," she muttered.

"Maybe they're bringing them?" Much suggested, watching. He was drawn back to the memories of when Marian was hurt. She too had a wound like this, and it had been Djaq that had saved her. But Robin had gotten help…sort of. He had also brought trouble as well, unintentionally, that was. Quickly Much shook his head, clearing his mind of the memory.

"Doubtful," she shook her head. "The collapse happened up near the front. It'll be hours, more likely days, if not weeks, before we see anyone."

"Weeks?" Much couldn't believe it. "They can't do that…"

"They can do whatever they want," Eleri reminded him with a sharp glare. "We don't matter, remember?"

He scowled, "What about-" then paused as he lowered his voice, "What about Robin? He'll come."

She turned to him quickly, fury in her eyes, but it died a moment later, a softer expression enveloping her features. "It's not that I don't expect him to," her voice was quiet, "I mean…I'm sure if he had the chance…no one is allowed in the mines. Not until they think it is safe."

"Robin will find a way," Much answered after a moment of thought. He could see her think the idea over, and finally she nodded.

"Maybe he will. But even then, what would that do? He can't possibly know what's going on down here."

She had a point, he sighed. But he wasn't going to give up on Robin. He held out the bowl again at Eleri's request, watching as she tried to clean the wound again. The bleeding had subsided, but there was still a lot of dirt, and the cloth was saturated already with blood and grime. He hoped Robin would come soon. Even if he didn't bring the stuff that was needed, he could go back for them a second time. Robin would do that.

The rest of the wounded were tended to, but not everyone was saved. Several men and one woman were lost from their injuries, and several more were still missing, having not returned to the caves at all. Tired, and worn, Much sat down next to Eleri, holding a small cup of water, and a handful of the earlier food he had seen. It was hardly enough to fill his stomach, and the taste was more than questionable, but he was hungry and ate without complaint.

"We have to be careful with the water," Eleri warned him as he went back for another cup. "That's all we have until they come back."

Reluctantly he dumped the water back into the barrel, replacing the lid. Robin had told him the same once before, when they were back in Acre. They had only the water in their flasks after becoming separated from the rest of the men. It was surprising how little water was needed in order to keep going. But Much could also remember the discomfort it caused. At least it wasn't hot down here, he reasoned.

One by one the others fell asleep. He himself was exhausted, both from the work earlier, and the trials that had followed after. Not everyone was sleeping soundly; the wounded tossed and turned, groans filling the air. And to think they didn't have even wine to help battle the pain. Much knew that his life in the forest with the others had not been extravagant, but it was now starting to seem luxurious. If someone had been hurt, they always had the needed to be taken care of. There was always food, granted not a lot, especially during the winter season, and there was always plenty of water. Never before had he thought he would miss such trivial things. And he missed Robin.

He was certain the other would come somehow. And when he did, Much would be ready. He moved to his feet, stepping around the sleeping forms and making his way to the tunnel. It took only a short time now, for Much had gotten fairly good at navigating through it, and on the other side he found a place to place his torch. The flickering flame shot light off the cave around him as he sat, leaning against the wall.

There was no sign of Robin, and even though that was to be expected, it was still a little disappointing. How long would he take? Surely not too long…Much decided he would wait, folding his arms against his chest as he drew his knees up. He wasn't worried…Eleri would know where he was if she woke, and she would find her way here. There wasn't anything else he could do.

He wondered, too, why they could not just leave. But he remembered Eleri's words about the danger, and about the tunnels being closed off. Even if they did somehow make it there unharmed, surely there would be guards waiting. No…he supposed there never had been a chance to leave.

He must have drifted, the sounds waking him as he blinked in the fading light. The torch was still burning, but dwindling down as Much sat up, eyes searching the cave to determine the source of the sound. It was coming from above, and he smiled proudly at discovering he had been correct about his deduction. Robin dropped the last few feet, landing solidly on the ground. When the man saw him, he let out a sigh.

"I was hoping you'd be here," the man confessed, moving to set a bag on the floor.

"I knew you would come," Much explained with a smile. He was half tempted to go back and fetch Eleri, but decided it was probably better to just let her sleep.

"I brought these," Robin handed him a flask, continuing to dig into the bag. "I was just going to leave them here. I figured you would come eventually, and find them."

The water was cold, fresh, far better in comparison to what he had before as he drank greedily. He heard his master scoff, glancing to see Robin shaking his head. "Go easy, I couldn't bring a lot."

Much sat back down near him, as Robin took out something else. It was a satchel, wrapped tightly, containing a loaf of bread, a bit of fresh meat. Hungry he set into it, pushing guilty thoughts and feelings to the back of his mind. He would try and save some for Eleri, but he wasn't going to wait for her.

"You're not hurt?" Robin speculated, and Much shook his head as he shoved another piece of bread in his mouth. He finished chewing before he answered.

"Some of the others are," he glanced back to the bag, and could see some supplies there. But then he wondered, curiosity striking him now. "What will the others say? They'll want to know where this came from."

"I thought about that," Robin confessed, pulling out the swatches of cloths. Along with them there were some bottles, medicines and herbs that he couldn't recognize. Robin handed them to him with a sigh. "I took the liberty of borrowing those as well. They won't be missed; several the guards have already used some. Take what you need, use it all."

"And get rid of the evidence, you mean?"

Robin nodded, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. "I couldn't come with nothing. But I fear I didn't bring enough."

Guiltily Much looked down at the bread, seeing it was already half gone. Here he had feasted, when Eleri hadn't eaten anything, only sipped on a bit of water. Quickly he wrapped it back up, tucking it away. The rest would be for her. But the others would want some as well. He could share it with everyone, he supposed. Say he found it like that. They wouldn't ask too many questions, would they?

"I don't know what I'm doing here, Much," Robin confessed suddenly. His voice was withdrawn, almost regretful. Much stared at him, blinking. Wasn't it obvious? Robin had come to bring him food, and supplies. He had come to make sure he was okay.

"Master, I-"

"Am I doing the right thing?"

"Of course you are," Much answered quickly. "You're not like them, you don't want us to be here. You want to save us."

"But I don't know if I can," the man confessed quietly, turning to him.

"You're Robin Hood," Much told him quietly. "You'll find a way."

"It's easier said than done. Maybe I should have just taken you and left when I first came. Then neither of us would be here right now."

This, Much supposed, was true. But it didn't sound like the Robin he knew, to just leave others behind. Much would never advocate in staying here, but he had only agreed because he trusted Robin, and knew the man would somehow figure a way out of this all.

"Why didn't you?"

"I gave Eleri my word," Robin said simply. That sounded more like him. The man was silent, and then he laughed a little, prompting Much to frown.

"What?"

"You know she didn't mean what she said earlier."

"About what?"

"You know," Robin pressed. "She does care about you."

"Oh," Much turned away, realizing what he was talking about. "I know…she was just, upset. That's all."

He wasn't sure to what part he was agreeing with. Eleri had already apologized for what she had said, so that much he knew. But Much wondered if she really did care about him, or if it was simply because there wasn't much of a choice. Still he wondered, about what the future would bring. He cleared his voice, unsure of what to say.

"I was thinking, when we do get out of here…of what we'll do."

"Go back to Nottingham, of course," Robin was quick to answer.

"I know that," Much nodded, "I mean…about Eleri. She doesn't have a family; her husband was killed before she was brought here."

The man sighed. "That's one of the problems we have. Most of these people won't have anywhere to go."

"She could come back with us," Much offered.

"Much," Robin shook his head. "You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"It's too dangerous."

"But it's dangerous here," Much protested. "What difference would it be?"

"You can't rescue her from one prison to go to another. If we get out of this, then she could live anywhere, she could have a real life, with anyone."

"But I want her…I want her to have a life with me," he muttered quietly, blushing as he did so.

"Much," Robin let out a sigh. "You can't ask her to do that."

"But you've asked Marian."

"That is different."

"How?" His voice had grown hard now, determined to make a point.

"Marian knows of the risk," Robin explained.

"Eleri would too, if we explained it to her. She would want to help, she would. And she's good with medicine; she took care of me when I was sick."

"And if the sheriff or Gisborne caught her with us, she wouldn't be able to leave. She couldn't have a real life after that."

"Neither would Marian," he kept pressing. "Marian can leave whenever she wants to, but if she came to stay, like you want her to, she couldn't go back to the castle."

"Enough," Robin warned. "That isn't your concern. It is not the same."

"It is," he argued. "The only difference is that you would get Marian, and I would have no one."

"That is not true, and you know that."

"I know that you would agree to it, if it benefited you. But it doesn't, so you don't care."

He didn't wait for Robin to say something else. Frankly he didn't want to hear what the other man had to say. Robin wouldn't understand how he felt, Robin wouldn't care. The man hadn't thought twice about asking Marian to stay with them. But at the first mentioning of someone else, Robin had shot the idea down.

* * *

He waited to see if the man would return. But as time went by, Robin realized it was futile in hoping. He was angry, yes, but more hurt from the accusations. Didn't Much understand what he was trying to say?

It did seem unfair, from an outside perspective. But the truth was that Marian already knew about their cause, of what they were trying to do back in Nottinghamshire. Eleri was different, she had been confined to a cave for the last years of her life. How could she possibly know anything? And more importantly, why would she be willing to give up a chance at freedom for something she didn't understand?

Much would see that in time, he reasoned, pulling himself back up to the tunnels. He wound the length of rope with him, packing it away as he moved along the corridors. It was a risk in coming here, sneaking out after the others had gone to sleep. The guards were distracted by the entrance, having allowed him to slip through, and he was praying that fate would still be with him. How he would explain being down here when the restrictions were on he wasn't sure. Robin assumed he could attribute it to looking for survivors. It was plausible enough, and he was only risking himself.

His thoughts drifted back to Much, still angry and hurt at the man's accusations. Worse was the knowledge that he wouldn't ever be able to ask Marian to stay with him. He came to a pause, thinking over what the man had said. Would it be any different, he wondered, if Marian had stayed with them? Robin shook his head. It was ridiculous.

He moved to climb the ladder, gripping the rungs and pulling himself up, one step at a time. Near the top he paused, listening, and when all was silent, he made his way out. The night air greeted him, and he pulled off the outerwear he had on, breathing in deeply. It was a momentary relief, however.

New, pressing thoughts entered his mind. He could not afford to sneak back down there, not until the restrictions were lifted. That meant a delay in his plan, however feeble it was. Robin still desperately wanted to get to the water room, to see for himself what he had to work with. Now it would have to wait, he feared.

He came to a stop, nearly running into a figure. A hand went to his weapon, wondering if he had been seen. What was he to do if he had been spotted? Could he silence the person? Unlikely, it was better to confess, to try and cast doubt and suspicion away, rather than to try and think of a reason why someone had suddenly just disappeared. Even more so that this certain someone was Latimer, one of Alfred's right hands. He would be missed shortly.

"Out for a nightly stroll, I see," the man greeted him. Robin gave a shrug, feigning innocence, the best ploy he had at the moment.

"Couldn't sleep. Is that so unusual?"

"Perhaps not. But I'm not a particularly conversational person, so I won't elaborate. Alfred wishes to speak with you."

Robin nodded, pretending to think it over. "In the morning, I wouldn't want to wake him."

"No need. He's already awake. In fact, he requested that I made sure you came."

The man took a step back, motioning with his hand in invitation. Robin could feel his stomach twist into a knot, wondering if now was perhaps the best time to run. But if he ran…then he would leave Much behind. That was not something he could do. And maybe he was overreacting. Alfred had been speaking with several of the guards throughout the day. Perhaps the man simply wanted to hear what had transpired in the mines from everyone, in order to get an accurate story, so that the restrictions could be lifted.

This, he decided, could possibly be a good thing. But then again, he had been wrong before…

**TBC**


	29. Trapped

**Many thanks to Kegel for the beta ;)**

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* * *

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**Chapter 29: Trapped**

He was stripped of his weapons as was protocol. Latimer still flanked him as they entered the room, but pulled away to stand at one side, next to another man that Robin knew to be Mercer. Another one of Alfred's favorites. To the other side stood another few guards, some supporting evidence of having been in the mines at the time of the collapse. At the front of the room sat Alfred, the long table passing in front of him adorned with food, a spectacular feast for this time of night. But it didn't seem to be wholly for him.

Alfred ate slowly, particular about what he brought to his mouth. The man next to him, someone Robin failed to recognize, was more intent on engorging himself of the fanciful buffet. He was disturbed, not only at the lack of manners, but the callousness that was involved. People had recently died, might still be dying somewhere under their feet, and here men were acting as though some celebration was in order. Robin found himself frowning, a deep, concreted emotion he could not shake off.

Somehow, he remembered his position, bowing in acknowledgment as he waited. Alfred reached up with a bit of cloth, wiping away the food that was clinging to his upper lip. "Seems you are unharmed. That is good to know."

He paused, but then gave a nod. There was still suspicion with him, but Robin could feel the tension start to ease. He had tried to tell himself that this was happening with everyone, not just him. Nathaniel, after all, had been in here earlier in the day. But then Nathaniel held more rank than he did. Robin shifted where he stood, trying his best to appear unfazed, wishing that this was simply over and done with.

"It is difficult, you must understand, to account for everyone," Alfred continued, hardly aware that Robin had even responded with the previous gesture. "Some of the guards are still missing. Most likely they are dead, as unfortunate as it is."

"What about the workers?"

"We'll have to replace the ones we lost, difficult as it may be."

Robin bit his tongue, the fury growing inside of him. He was reminded, once again, of why it was important to put an end to all of this. The lack of concern for human life was disturbing, and only served to fuel the fire inside of him. There were good people down there; Much was down there, and along with him were people like Eleri, and children like Rhodri. They all deserved to be valued more than like a simple piece of property as Alfred was doing now.

"It is of little importance now," the man continued, sitting up in his seat. He wiped away the remainders of crumbs from his upper lip, and the ones that clung to his beard. With a wave of his hand he indicated to the man seated next to him, who had, until this point, been stuffing himself full. Rotund, and somewhat grotesque, the man let out a repugnant belch as he too sat back in his seat. A moment later he had a small knife, working against his teeth to rid himself of the food that clung there. Robin grimaced, turning away, wondering if the smell was actually there, or simply imagined.

"I would like you to meet a friend of mine," Alfred went on, hardly bothered by the situation. Robin turned his gaze back, trying to place where all of this was leading. The more he saw of the man, the less he wanted to have to do with him.

"Have we met before?" the newly introduced man wondered, blade still resting against his chin. He was studying him now, Robin shifting under the gaze uncomfortably.

"I do not believe so," Robin answered quickly, "I would have remembered."

The man laughed dryly at the intended insult, but failed to respond in any other fashion. Next to him, Alfred was finishing up the last of his food, chewing slowly as he watched them. Robin remained where he was, considering leaving when Alfred spoke again.

"Interesting."

"What is?" Robin raised an eyebrow when the man failed to explain. Alfred continued to watch him, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner. Finally he responded.

"I thought for sure you would have remembered the man that employed you. Stephan is not someone you forget easily, as you so said yourself."

To this, Robin said nothing, his mind instead searching to try and understand what Alfred was saying. And the name meant something, something important, but what exactly? Suddenly he froze, remembering now. Stephan was the name that garnered him entry here. Stephan was the man he pretended to know, pretended to be in good favor with. And now Stephan was here, and Robin realized as little too late that he had just made a deadly mistake.

"Is it really you?" He fumbled with his words, his voice nowhere near as calm as he wanted it to be. Instead he sounded like a child who had just been caught misbehaving, one that was trying to get out of being punished. And he was trying to; desperately.

"In the flesh," Stephan answered with a laugh.

That was all too true, but Robin didn't mention that. "You have changed…since I last saw you."

"Stephan has always been a man of fine taste," Alfred interrupted them, holding up a goblet of wine. The man took a sip, and set it back down in one slow motion, wetting his lips. "True, he has let himself go over the years, but quite assuredly he is the same man."

Robin gave a nod, the tightness in his chest starting to dissipate. Things would be okay, they had to be. And the feel of the cold metal pressed against his flesh helped to reassure him. He always carried that dagger with him, concealed under the folds of his clothes. If he had a need to use it, he would, without hesitation. But he could not be rash; it would ruin whatever plans he held.

"Forgive me, for not recognizing you. It has been a trying day," the apology was meek, but all Robin could muster up.

"I could say the same for you," Stephan answered, "what was your name again?"

"You see," Alfred cut into the conversation, "I was complimenting Stephan on sending such a valuable worker, as he always does. But he couldn't quite recall having done so for a time now. When I mentioned your name, he failed to remember such a person. I was hoping in seeing you, that it would enlighten his aging mind. But he still seems confused."

"It was a time ago," Robin was quick to offer. "I was much younger, that could be the reason."

He was being watched, the realization becoming clearer by the minute. Not only by Alfred and Stephan up front, but by the guards near their sides, Latimer and Mercer, and several other men who stood behind him near the door. There were eight in all, including Alfred and his guest. They would not fight; Robin doubted they even could. That left half a dozen men and only one way out; they were not promising odds seeing that Robin was unarmed, apart from the dagger.

"It could be," Alfred agreed, but something in his tone did not sit well with Robin. The man was silent, as if thinking something over, then finally he answered. "Or it could be because you have lied."

"What reason would I have to lie?" He was reaching, trying to cast suspicion off of himself.

"You tell me," the man's voice was now cold, his gaze something similar. Robin shifted where he was, knowing that everyone's attention was now on him. Furiously his mind was searching, trying to come up with some sort of plan, of something he could do.

"No need to fret," Alfred once again continued. "I'm sure you'll confess shortly, once you come to your senses. You'll have company in the meantime," the man nodded to the pair at his side. "Take him away."

It seemed as though everything came to a pause, for the briefest of moments. Robin stood where he was, enveloped in thoughts, feelings running amok as he tried to make a decision. Whatever it was, he would have one chance, and even then the odds were slim. But in that moment, a decision was made.

Robin pulled free the dagger with some difficulty. Still it was out, ready to strike even as the men came at him. The first man was Mercer, who was larger and quite possibly stronger than Latimer. The small weapon hardly seemed to faze him, as he answered in response with a sword of his own, goading him to strike.

"Let's not start any trouble now," he said cheerily, his steps bringing him closer. "Put it down now."

Robin said nothing, firmly planting his feet to keep his stance open. If he could somehow distract him, and get by the men blocking the door, he could make a run for it. Once he was out of the room, he had a fair chance in making it to the woods. And once there, he could disappear. Sherwood had given him plenty of practice for that.

He turned at the sound behind him, ducking a fist that was thrown his way. Robin brought the dagger up, switching at the last moment to use the handle instead of the blade, connecting with flesh. There was a gasp as the man staggered, surprised by the sudden move, but perhaps more so by the fact that he hadn't just been skewered. Robin moved around him, kicking out to knock another guard back, moving a step closer to the door.

Latimer had taken up the opposite end of Mercer, Robin back-peddling as a sword cut through the air, where he had just been. He lost his concentration, forgetting about the other behind him. There was a resounding crack, a sharp pain in his side as the butt of a sword caught him, knocking him to his feet.

Struggling for breath, he tightened his hold on the blade. If he lost it now, it would be over. He swung the dagger, blade meeting flesh, and an angry curse filling the air as blood was spilt. The hand that had just been on him had let go, the owner more intent on nursing the fresh injury. But no sooner had he been free that more hands came.

The next time he tried to swing out, his motions were halted, another blow to his midsection stealing his breath away even more. The knife was wrenched from his tightly clenched hand, his body forced to the floor even as he struggled. There was fresh pain, blood he could taste from being backhanded, his arms pulled behind him as they were bound. The struggle did not last for long, and he was pulled to his feet, the point of a blade resting against the back of his neck.

Robin worked on catching his breath, sagging in his captor's hold. He wasn't sure who was behind him, focused instead on the front of the room where Alfred sat. The man seemed unimpressed by his antics, having gone back to eating even as the commotion in the room died down.

"There are always two ways of doing things," the man informed him, finishing off the rest of his wine. "The easy way, and the difficult way. You'll come to find that I play no games, so choose wisely." There was a brief pause before he turned to one of the guards. "Find out who he is, and what he is doing here."

* * *

He wasn't happy in the least to see the man. Yet Vaysey, Sheriff of Nottingham, had a feeling it wouldn't be long before his Master-At-Arms showed. And he was correct. The message must have gone to him shortly after the incident, and Chaffee must have left the village moments after receiving it.

He came in extravagant attire, colors that swirled together, lining each and every article he wore from the tips of his gloves to the toes of his boots. Even the riding cape was elaborate, a dark red, embroidered with gold trim. Half-mindedly, Vaysey wondered if it was real, and how much of a price it would fetch…

"Tell me, is it true, zat you let an outlaw escape?"

"I am always surprised at how quickly word travels," the sheriff remarked dryly as he watched the man make himself comfortable. The cape and gloves were removed, handed to a stable boy, who was quick in scampering out, leaving the pair alone. With a face of mild irritation, Chaffee dusted off one of the benches, and seated himself.

"You are aware zat some of ze men here work for me, yes?"

Vaysey had speculated it. He also assumed that some were even plotting against him. Now he wondered mildly if the outlaw that got away had been lucky, or if he had some sort of help. But what would Chaffee gain by allowing a criminal to escape? Unless it was a ploy to make him look bad? The thought not only infuriated him, but worried him as well. His position was already on the line, he needed no assistance in risking it more.

"He won't be free for long."

"Is zat so?" Chaffee was watching him, and then the man stared at a goblet in front of him, frowning when he saw it was empty. Vaysey let out an irritated growl.

"Guards? More wine!"

The suggestion caused the Frenchman to smile, and he folded his hands together as he leaned against the table. "Tell me what ze plans are."

"Plans?"

"In catching ze outlaw. You said yourself zat he won't be free for long. So you must have a plan."

That was laughable. Catching outlaws was the work for the Master-At-Arms. He was half-tempted to point this out, but knew nothing good would come of it.

"The plan is to catch him. I have guards searching the town as we speak. He'll have to come out from hiding sooner or later."

"Have you not zought zat he would come quicker with bait?"

Of course he had thought that. But he had also thought of something else. "It is bad enough having one of them loose. We bring them out, we risk losing them all. These are not your ordinary outlaws. They are exceptionally deceptive."

He knew this firsthand. How many times had the wretched vermin escaped? More times than he wanted to admit. But this time it was hardly his fault. He had wanted them all to hang. Chaffee had talked him out of it. That had been the only attribute Vaysey had admired of the other man. The fact they thought alike, in that killing was too easy and held no entertainment value. Now he was starting to regret that. Gisborne would have suggested he hang them, had Gisborne been in the right state of mind, that was.

Vaysey shook his head, clearing the thoughts. His former Master-At-Arms was an outlaw now. That was all in the past, he would not allow himself to think of it anymore. Chaffee was his concern, and he wondered to what the man would suggest. If it was so easy to catch the outlaw, why didn't he just do it and have it all done with?

"Of course, we do not want zem to escape. We want justice, ze people want justice. Zey are worried, a criminal is on ze loose. We have to show zem zat we care for zier well being. Zat we love zem, and want to take care of zem."

To this Vaysey scoffed. One of Hood's men on the loose hardly counted as a threat to the populace. And the people knew this. More in likely they would be helping to conceal him, celebrating the small victory. The thought angered him, knowing that most likely he was being mocked.

"When he is found, he will be punished. We must show ze people, zat even criminals must follow ze law."

"And what exactly do you propose?" Vaysey wondered, mildly irritated now.

To this, Chaffee smiled. "We shall make a proclamation."

* * *

He sat huddled, in a corner of a forgotten stall, taking shelter in a patch of shade. More than once a round of guards had crossed by here, Will holding his breath and praying he would not be found. Each time had seemed to last an eternity, but eventually they had moved on. For the moment, he was free. Not that he was in any better predicament than he had been before.

When the guards had taken him, he had suspected the worst. And he had been right, being taken to another cell, one that was adorned with a variety of instruments. He knew what they were for, even if he couldn't place them all by name. Will had been intent on not waiting around to see if his speculations were true. When the opportunity came, he seized it.

Even now he wasn't exactly sure how he managed to flee the castle unseen. The element of surprise had given him an advantage, no doubt, but the rest had to be chance, surely. He should have gone further. Should have left Nottingham altogether. But he couldn't bring himself to do so. Will wasn't sure if he would be able to get back in. But the more he thought about it, the more he wasn't sure he wanted to be here.

Will knew what he had to do. Once the others heard of his escape, they would expect him to come back. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. But even now, sitting here, he couldn't bring himself to even move. Going back meant he would most likely be caught. Being caught meant that they would continue with whatever they had planned before. It would be worse when they did. No doubt they would hold a grudge, would be determined to make him suffer. The thought terrified him, paralyzing him where he sat.

If he went back, he wouldn't be much help, he reasoned. He was still bound, a problem which he had yet to fix. The brief run had left him winded, old injuries surfacing as if to remind him just how long it had been since being captured. The lack of proper food, and the poor treatment, had weakened him. There was nothing he could do for the others; it would be in his best interest to simply leave. But no matter what he told himself, Will knew the only truth was that he was a coward.

What if they were doing to the others what they had planned to do to him? Could he walk away, with that knowledge? Before long they would die, he knew. Either by the sheriff's hand, or by some misfortune. Could he live with that? The answer was clear, already knowing that he could not. But what then, was left?

He was one man. And even together, as a group, they had failed time and time again to find a way out. There were simply too many guards, and no longer would he have the element of surprise on their side. The sheriff knew he was free. There would be extra guards, and Will would not be able to breathe, let alone set a foot inside the castle without being detected. He wouldn't be able to fight…he didn't even have a weapon.

Will pressed himself against the wood, holding his breath as he heard more footsteps. They drew close, a conversation in the midst as the pair walked on by.

"-some sort of announcement, wants us all there."

"Go there, go here, they can't make up their minds."

"It's something to do with the outlaw, I think-"

The voices were lost as they rounded the corner, but Will had heard enough to peak his interest. This involved him somehow; he had to find out. Slowly, cautiously, he crept out, checking his surroundings, ready to flee at the smallest indication he was being followed. He moved along the wall, sneaking into another abandoned stall, following along the back as he led his way towards the market.

More people had gathered here, but he kept his distance, coming to a stop near some barrels. Balancing on his heels, he rested his hands in his lap, doing his best to keep the noise of the chain from giving away his position. How he would get them off, he wasn't certain as of yet. A blacksmith might be willing to help, but at the same time, he might be as eager to turn him over to the authorities. At least his hands had been bound in front, giving him some advantage.

Will held his breath upon seeing the sheriff standing at the top of the stair. Near him, another man stood, one that Will recognized briefly. The new Master-At-Arms, he guessed, if memory served him correctly. The tolling of a bell brought more people, and before long there was a steady murmur of voices filling the area as more people crowded in. It died to a mere whisper as the sheriff began to speak, his voice carrying over the courtyard with ease.

"I, being the Sheriff of Nottingham, have an announcement to make. It has come to our attention that an unfortunate event took place earlier today. We had a prisoner escape."

To this, there were more murmurs, short lived as the man held up his hands, beckoning for silence.

"I can assure you that we are doing everything we can to apprehend this dangerous felon. He will be caught, and brought to justice. But we need your help, in doing this. It pains me to say this, for protecting you is my sole responsibility. We shouldn't have to ask you to risk your well-being, your family, in order to see this through. But this man, this criminal, is cunning. With your help, we can bring him to justice before anyone is harmed."

Will felt himself swallow, in both anger and slight fear. It was not the first time the sheriff had portrayed them as dangerous outlaws. He had once framed Robin for the death of innocents. There had been startling proof then, and the populace had been easily swayed. What now, would the sheriff do to make them suspect that the outlaws were capable of harm?

"The outlaw is not the only danger," the sheriff continued, raising his voice as he motioned with his hands. "There are others, out there, that would be willing to help the man escape. They would provide for him, supply him with food, with weapons, with information. They would make him even more dangerous. Is that what we want? A clue: no…" he was shaking his head.

"It may sound romantic. You may think you're helping the greater good, being a good citizen. But that is further from the truth. Those who do help the outlaw…will be punished. Give the outlaw something to eat…you lose a hand. Give him information, tell him where to run, or where to hide, you lose a tongue. Shelter him…you lose your home. Doesn't sound very romantic anymore, now does it?"

To this, there were frightened and hurried whispers. The sheriff was getting exactly what he wanted, and Will felt his heart sink. He could not chance seeking help from anyone, could not endanger them. He truly was on his own.

"Fear not, good people. For there is always a reward for those who abide by the law. Times are hard, and all of you have suffered greatly. It is why I am offering compensation. Not to just one man, not to just one family, but to all of Nottinghamshire, for the capture of this outlaw. I want to show you that we rise and fall together. That the good of the law benefits everyone. Help us, so that we may help you in return. And you and your families will be fed for a month."

To this, there was a greater reception. Will felt the cold feeling spread throughout his body as he sank down against the wall. Was that even possible? Was there enough food to feed everyone for that length of time? Even if there was, would the sheriff even hold to his word? Most likely not; he was baiting them, holding a tantalizing prize over their heads, just out of reach. And it was working. The way they were responding told Will that not only could he not ask them for help, but he had to avoid them altogether.

* * *

He fought them every step of the way, even with the threat of the blade present, digging into his flesh as he was dragged down the stairs. He knew he was bleeding, could feel the cuts being made incidentally as the men struggled to hold on to him. They wouldn't kill him, not until they had done as Alfred bade. If he could break free, get away from the prying hands, then he had a chance. But they tightened their hold, bruising flesh and hurrying their pace. Several times he tripped, nearly bringing the others with him, but somehow they always found their footing, and never loosed their hold.

Down here, beneath the manor, the room was dark, the air cold and uninviting. With the aid of a torch they made their way further in. It was passed around, from one man to another, pressed against a space in the wall. A moment later, a new, mounted torch sprang to life, and slowly the darkness began to fade.

The two men that held Robin pulled him towards the center of the room. The area was fairly good sized, with corridors that led down darkened paths, perhaps to other rooms. There were shackles suspended from several of the walls, and in the midst of the room, a solid pole that ran vertically, from ceiling to floor. Roughly he was pinned against this, arms freed for the smallest of moments.

He tried to lash out, to kick, but they avoided him easily, and no sooner had he been free, were his hands bound again, this time around the pole. The same was done to his legs, a loop of rope around his thighs, one just below his knees, and then another around his ankles, making it so he could scarcely move. And all the while the tension mounted, the fear becoming more evident inside of him. This was not going to end well.

No sooner had he thought it, that it proved to be true. He was backhanded, several times in quick succession that left his head spinning and ears ringing. Fresh, new wounds began to bleed, and he caught his breath in the lull of punishment, meeting the gaze of the other man.

"That was for this," Mercer spat at him, holding up his hand to see. So he had been the one Robin had managed to wound. Despite his situation, he found himself smiling, a cocky grin for all to see. The blow that followed was sharp, and by no means unexpected. He winced at the new sensation, head hanging as he tried to think things through.

He wasn't sure how they had made the connection, how they had even known. There were several dozen guards that worked for Alfred. Most of them had been sent by Stephan, looking for work. Why had their suspicions fallen on him? Had he been foolish somewhere, taken one too many risks? Or had someone given him away?

"Don't mind him, he loses his temper easily."

Robin glanced up briefly, meeting the other man who stood there. Latimer, the same man who had fetched him for Alfred. He was rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, studying him. A moment later he was pacing, making a complete circle around him. Robin could only follow him part of the ways, the man disappearing from his line of sight. It made him anxious, unable to prepare himself for what might come.

"Although, I consider that a good thing. Makes my job so much easier. I do the talking; he does the convincing," Latimer finished the circle, coming to a stop in front of him again. "We'll see how much convincing you need, first. Let's have a little talk. Who are you?"

Robin glanced from him, back to where Mercer stood, a smirk on the man's face. They would beat him, he knew. But as long as he gave nothing away, he would live. That was a start. He had been in this position before, knew to some extent what would happen. It gave him some comfort, but it terrified him anew, somewhere deep down.

He nearly flinched as the fist came. Robin hadn't seen the man cross the room, but managed to turn at the last moment, the blow catching him in the jaw instead of square in the face. He could taste blood, having caught his tongue between his teeth, the pain traveling through his jaw, and back through the rest of his head. It was pounding now, throbbing in tempo with his heart rate, amplifying with each moment. Given a minute to rest, it died down to a dull throb, but it hardly cleared his mind.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," Latimer elaborated, as Robin spat out the blood that had began to pool in his mouth. "I ask a question, you answer, we're all happy. I ask a question, you don't answer, and no one is happy, least of all you."

"You already know my name," Robin answered, holding onto his ruse. That was all he had.

"Roy?" the man raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer. He was close enough now that Robin could feel his warm breath on his face, prompting him to turn away. "I don't believe you."

"Not my problem."

He winced, the blow aimed lower this time. Apparently they had caught onto his earlier dizzy spell, and wished to avoid a repeat. You could get as many answers from an unconscious man as you could from a dead one. Still the infliction hurt, a burn sensation spreading across his chest as he was hit again.

"You should reconsider your thoughts," he was warned. "It seems very much to be your problem. And soon, it will be a very big problem. We are not very patient. We have other things to do."

"My name is Royston White," Robin repeated, his eyes closed. This would get far worse before it would get better. But if he was to admit he had been lying about one thing, then nothing he said would be taken for the truth. They would grow tired, had to grow tired, of all of this. They would give in, they would leave, and he could try and think, try and come up with some plan.

If they didn't kill him first, that was.

**TBC**


	30. Small Steps

**Thanks goes out to Kegel for the beta :)**

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**Chapter 30: Small Steps**

By nature she was a tolerant person. Calm, and quiet, hard to anger…but she had been angry before. Back in her homeland, back when she had been caught up in the war, witnessing the death, the torment others had suffered through. She had felt that anger when her brother had been killed, again when she had been captured, and later when she had been sold as a slave. Yes…she had been angry before. A long time ago. And she was angry now.

All she could see in her mind was Will. Could see him being taken away. And she felt as though she was losing him, just as she had lost her brother. Somehow she could remember every detail, as though it had just taken place. Most of all, she could remember the look of fear on his face. And she could remember how she tried to stop it all, how she tried to help him flee. And she could remember how Marian stopped her from doing so.

Even now she refused to speak with the woman. Marian was someone she knew, but only hardly so. Their time in captivity together had brought them a step closer, having nothing to do but converse. Yet now she wanted nothing to do with the former sheriff's daughter.

"The same would have happened to all of us, I'll have you know," Marian warned her.

Djaq could not bring herself to respond. She didn't care what would have happened to them. All that would have mattered was that Will could have gotten away. She doubted he was being treated with care, and part of her wondered if he was even still alive. Desperately she wanted to believe so. Had the sheriff wanted to kill him, surely he would have made a spectacle of it. Or would have taken them all to hang.

"We need to stick together," Marian continued, her voice still taunt.

"Yes," Djaq answered in a similar tone. "We should have all tried to help him."

Marian seemed rebuked by her tone, or perhaps more from what she had said. After a moment she answered, the same coldness in her voice.

"So we all die. What good would that do anyone?"

"At least it would be better than staying in here."

"We'll find a way out of here-"

"There is none!" Djaq cried, sitting up. "We would have found it by now, if there was. We are helping no one. We came to help you, but we shouldn't have."

"So all of this is my fault?"

She wanted to cry yes, wanted so much to blame someone, but never had the chance. Instead she felt herself jump, and tense slightly at the voice. It was John that yelled at them, a tone she had heard the man take only a few times.

"We do not argue."

The man, though large as he was, seemed so small alone in that cell. It was all the more of a reminder of what had happened. She could also remember the only reason John was alive now, was because of Marian. Djaq let out a sigh, knowing that she was grateful for that. But why could she not help Will as she had helped John? Why had Marian not done everything possible, or at the very least allowed her to do as she wanted?

"You miss him. We all do," John continued, a slight pain in his voice now. "But we cannot blame each other. Will would not want it that way."

And he was right. Little John usually was. And Djaq knew he spoke with experience behind his words. He had a wife, a son, a family he had lost. But at least they were safe, away from harm. The same could not be said for Will. Djaq could feel the tears threaten to start again, and she buried her head into her arms, trying to will herself to be strong. She had suffered through losses before; she could find her way through one more. But the simple thought of it was almost too much to bear.

Will had not just been a friend. There was something about him, something she couldn't quite place, but knew already in her heart what it was. She loved him. Of course she had never told him that, had never even admitted it to herself that she was drawn to him. Of course that was the reason she chose to go with him when they split up into groups. It was the reason her bed was the closest to his, the reason she spoke to him first whenever something was troubling her. And now, all of that, was gone.

Quickly she brought up her head as the door scraped against the stone somewhere above. Djaq could feel her heart stall dangerously inside her chest, her breath caught in her throat as she strained to listen, to see who was coming. They wouldn't be bringing back the others this early, that did not happen until the night came, and the sun fell from the sky. There was always the chance it could be another poor soul that was taken from the streets above, but she was praying to Allah that it was Will.

Then she felt her heart drop, her hopes vanquished as the guards arrived, pushing the others before them. It was only Allan, and Gisborne. Will was nowhere to be seen. Why should he be? It was already too late for him. Djaq was thinking these bitter thoughts, so consumed by them she didn't even ponder over why the others had been brought back so early.

The slamming of the cell door shook her from her thoughts, catching the last of the words as the guards left them, the darkness encompassing them once more. She glanced over to the cell, watching as Allan rubbed his neck tenderly, sitting on his knees where he had landed. Gisborne had moved to his feet, stretching, no doubt working tender muscles that pained him.

"What is it?" Marian had moved to the side of the cell, holding to the bars and pressing her face against them. "Why have they brought you back so early?"

"Sheriff's orders; we're not to leave the dungeon," Gisborne's voice was still not one she was used to hearing. It was difficult to remind herself that the man was one of them now. Why couldn't it have been him taken away? Regretfully she couldn't stop the thought from crossing her mind.

"Fine by me," Allan agreed quietly, now moving to his feet as well. He stretched, groaning as he did so, glancing around. "Where is Will?"

"They took him," Djaq found her voice quiet, almost bitter as she responded. Marian turned to look at her, and Djaq could almost swear she could see the anger in her face.

"Took him where?"

She shook her head, unable to answer. It was Marian that answered, her voice soft, lined with something else, maybe a little bit of guilt. "We don't know. The sheriff came down here, had him bound and taken away. I was hoping you might have seen him on your way here."

"No," Allan was shaking his head. "You think something's happened to him?"

"If the sheriff wanted him dead, I think we would all know. Most of all the two of you. You would have seen something. That means he might still be alive."

"Bein' tortured, you mean," the man responded grimly. Djaq felt her heart tighten. Though she liked the prospect of Will being alive, she wasn't sure if she could come to terms with the thought of him being tortured. Robin had once been held prisoner here, and she had seen the damage they had done in just a short time.

Then it had been Gisborne. Djaq wasn't sure if that was a relief or not. She herself had encountered the sheriff alone, and knew what the man was capable of. Another thought which worried her, was the fact she had yet to see the jailer. The crude man had boasted more than once of how well he could inflict pain, and how he had been waiting until given the permission to do so. What if that was happening now?

Djaq could feel the threat of the tears again, felt herself swallowing, trying to keep everything in. The thought stayed with her, as much as she tried to banish it. Either fate seemed to be a terrible one. The man was either dead, or being tortured, all the while they sat here and did nothing. That was all they could do, all they had ever been able to do since first coming here.

She had first wondered, since first coming here, how long it would be. How long did they have until they were finally beaten? It seemed to her that she finally had an answer to that question.

They had been beaten long ago.

* * *

It was a familiar, unwanted pain that greeted him when he woke. It ran throughout his body, focusing on his head, and settling in his chest. He felt dizzy, slightly sick as he tried to raise his head, his breath hitching at the pain that resulted from the slight movement. His chin came to rest against his bare chest, the reminder of what had all happened. Some memories were real, others, he assumed, he had imagined. Or perhaps he was remembering them from a time long ago.

He was still bound, in the center of the room, the ropes having worked into his wrists as he struggled. Even through his leggings he could feel them chaffing his legs, leaving them tender. They were the only thing holding him up now. Robin shifted, as much as he could, in order to support his weight better. The pain was bearable, but only just, and he worried what would await him when they discovered he was awake.

So far he had held his tongue. They knew nothing more than what they had first learnt upon his arrival all that time ago. Part of him was hoping they had given up, but he knew that was hardly the case. He wouldn't be here otherwise, still restrained, still alive. He took in a deep breath, wincing at the tightness in his chest. It didn't feel like anything was broken; bruised no doubt, but not broken.

He stayed like this for a few more minutes, chin resting against his chest as he caught his breath, and dealt with the pain. Then he tried to move. He pulled against the rope that was laced around his wrists, rotating hands back and forth to try and find a weak point. If he could break through it, or find the knot, maybe loosen it, just a bit…

He grimaced, Robin biting back a groan as the rope bit into his flesh. They were already tender enough, and this was not helping. His movements stopped as he gathered enough ambition to try once more.

"Take it easy, you'll only hurt yourself more."

The voice made him jump, Robin turning towards the sound quickly. He hadn't realized he had company, and even though he couldn't see the man, he was already placing the voice. A voice that he knew, one that angered him. True, he hadn't had a lot of time to think since his capture, given all the distractions. But a time after they had left him, before he had finally faded into unconsciousness, he had come to the cold conclusion.

"You gave me away," Robin accused him, his voice heavy.

"No," the response was almost immediate, without any emotion as the man stepped forward.

Robin studied him for a moment, wondering how he must look to the other. He couldn't see himself, but he could feel the bruising, could feel where his skin had broken in several places, dry blood coating his features. He wet his lips, turning away. He wasn't sure if he wanted to believe the man. Dax was the only one who had any inclination of what Robin planned. The only one who would have been able to speak with Alfred. The man was his father after all. Was everything just a pretense in order to get Robin to open up, and confess his secrets?

"You betrayed me," his voice was sullen, the accusation still there. Dax shook his head.

"I did not. You must believe me."

"Help me then," Robin lifted his head, meeting the other's gaze.

Dax stayed where he was, unmoving at first before he turned away. "I can't do that."

"Why?"

"I do not have a choice, Roy," he answered, frowning. "If that is even who you are."

"Everything is a choice," Robin ignored the last comment. "Please, you must help me."

"They're waiting for me up there," Dax went on, as though he hadn't heard anything. "I'm supposed to watch you, let them know when you've waken. If I leave without speaking with anyone, I fall under suspicion. If I leave, and they find you gone, I'm a dead man."

"Are you any better if you leave me here?"

He was quiet before answering. "I'm sorry, I can't help you."

It was infuriating. He claimed to have no doings with this, but then refused to help when it was asked of him. Did that make him any less guilty? Robin pulled against his bonds, struggling against them as Dax was heading for the stairs.

"I'll tell them about you," he threatened suddenly, his voice stopping the man in his tracks. Robin took a breath, letting it out slowly. "About you, and Jane. About what you're planning to do. You're as much involved in this as I am."

Dax had turned, had crossed the room in a few short strides. The amount of force was alarming, a hand on his chin, pinning the back of his head back against the pole. Dax was now just a breadth away, fury in his eyes and venom laced in his voice.

"You do, and you won't have to worry about them," he warned. "I'll kill you myself."

Despite the pain, he held the other man's gaze. Cold and hard, like his, unwavering. Almost as sudden as Dax had grabbed him, he let go, Robin flexing his jaw as if he could drive away the tenderness that was there. He wouldn't tell, of course, but he had hoped the threat alone was enough to make the other reconsider. Now he could see that was the furthest from the truth.

He said nothing more as the man left him, but began his struggles anew, trying in vain to get the rope to slip free. He could feel the burn in his muscles, the stiffness in his joints as he moved. Above he could hear the steps, could see the first indication of light as the darkness was chased away. They were coming for him.

Almost as soon as he had started his struggles, he stopped. He didn't want them to see, didn't want to give them any satisfaction. He was worried, yes, but that was something they did not need to know. Instead he lifted his head, held his breath while he calmed his pounding heart, and met their gazes as they came down the stairs one by one.

There were five of them this time, Latimer leading the group. Mercer was there was well, and three other men Robin could scarcely remember. One was a guard he had spoken to before, a man by the name of Hurst. The other two he had seen, but that was the extent of his knowledge. As soon as they had reached the bottom of the stairs, they turned to their left, moving to one corner. Robin watched them for a short time only, his focus being brought up to the front as Latimer neared.

"It is good to see you awake. We were worried there at first, that we had been too hard on you, too soon. We'll take more care in the future, I promise."

He spoke as though he was concerned, but there was malice playing in his features. He stood in front of Robin, matching him almost for height, hands clasped behind his back.

"Of course, things could be easy. If you tell me your name."

Robin answered with a defiant glare. He said nothing, knowing there was no point, but also due to the fear of having his voice waver, and betray his weakness. He expected to be hit again, but nothing came. Instead Latimer watched him, shrugging his shoulders indifferently.

It was then Robin could smell it, the faintest wisp of smoke. And from the corner of his eye he could see the new flame leap in the corner, stronger than the torches that already burned, feeding on the wood that was fed to it. A fire…they were building a fire. But for what? There was a chill down here, but Robin had doubts the fire was for his comfort.

His attention was turned back to the front as Latimer spoke again, the same tone as always, almost as though he was bored from the ordeal. "Do not think that you're achieving something here…you are not the first stubborn one we've come across. You can save us all a lot of time, and yourself a lot of trouble if you just give in now. Give us a name, your name, the name of your employer. I really don't care which."

He was half-tempted to answer there. It would be truthful to say no one had sent him, but he wondered too if it would really make any difference. He could say that no one sent him, or spout of a name fabricated from thin air. It was doubtful they would believe either. Which left the question as to why they were so intent on getting him to confess here and now. If they did not believe him…what was the point?

The man had begun to circle him in the same manner as he had done before, disappearing from his sight. Robin hated this part most of all, of not being able to see. It was easier when he could anticipate what was to come, but if he could not even see the other, how could he brace himself?

But shortly he appeared again, with slow steps as he studied him, frowning as he came to a pause. Robin flinched, trying to pull away as the hand came to a rest along his side, probing against a bruise that had formed from his last beating. The man prodded it a few times with his finger, before rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"You think this is broken?"

Robin knew it was not, but the question hadn't been directed at him. Instead it was Mercer who he was looking at, the man drawing nearer as if to see for himself. The sudden, mock concern filled Robin with dread, as well as humility as he turned his head away. What they would achieve through this, he couldn't be certain. Unless it was their ploy to convince him they were trying to help, to gain his trust, to get him to confess mistakenly, thinking he was telling friends instead of foes…he wouldn't give in.

He moved faster than what Robin could follow. Mercer had been standing a step behind Latimer, and in the next moment he was a breath away. Before he even knew what was happening, the pain exploded in his side as he was hit, not once, but twice in a row with the handle of a sword. Twice it came down, twice it drove deep into his side, and on the second time, he felt, rather than heard, the snap that followed.

For a few, terrifying seconds, Robin could not bring himself to breath. He was doubled over, as far as his position allowed, trying feebly to draw air into his lungs. Even when he was able, it did not lessen the pain, instead it seemed to amplify it, making him aware of even the smallest of movements. With each breath he could feel it, sharp and tearing, running the length of his body and threatening to make him ill.

"It is now," the man stated proudly, sheathing the weapon. Near him, Latimer let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

"Cute, but next time refrain from doing something like this. We wouldn't want to cause unfortunate damage; we do need him alive."

There was a muttered apology, but Robin hardly heard it. Instead his focus was on the pain, on the way his chest moved with his breaths. He was trying to draw in short breaths, trying to hold them as long as he could before letting go. It was not the first time he had taken a beating; his ribs had felt the effects of bruising before, and his side had been cut deep with a blade more than once. But that pain had been dull, had been but a whisper to what he was feeling now.

Everything around him was forgotten for the time being. Robin's head rested against his chest, his arms supporting most of his weight, still bound behind the post. He stayed like this, even after opening his eyes as he heard the snapping of fingers, a way of getting his attention. It still hurt to breath, still felt like he wasn't getting enough air, but he was calmer than he had been a moment ago, even though his heart still raced in his chest.

"So, do we have anything to say yet?"

There was a wonder, as brief as it was, if he could say something, say anything, a fabricated name, to throw them off track. They did not believe he was Roy, but what if he was to say he was someone else? What if he was to give another name? They might believe him then, but if that was the case…what would happen? They would kill him, would they not? He winced, holding a breath as he came to a decision.

He would say nothing. He had to stay alive, had to find a way out somehow. He didn't much like the prospect, the thought of what he might yet have to endure in order to make it there. But he thought of Much, of what might become of the man if he failed now. And Latimer seemed to understand his resolve, for the man motioned to the back of the room, to where the other guards stood.

Now Robin could see what their intent was. It was a simple, flat, blunt piece of metal that was produced, a cloth wrapped delicately around one end, while the other was glowing fiercely. He felt a part of his heart sink, a bitter taste in his mouth, his breath catching as he tried to pull away. But the pole held him fast, with nowhere to go as they came near.

And a part of him knew that this would be no better than what had taken place before, and he prayed it would end soon, that someone would come for him. But the cold, cruel truth was that no one would.

He was alone.

* * *

It had taken him some time, but finally he found it. That was the first of many things, and he found himself waiting, hiding off in the shadows, trying not to doze. It was difficult, he was so tired, with the earlier apprehension gone, he felt utterly drained. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, to rest up, even for a short while.

He couldn't risk it. Will knew well enough of what would await him if he were caught off his guard. With the entire town aware of his disappearance, with the reward so high, there was little chance of sympathy in anyone who came across him. So as difficult as it was, he forced himself to remain away, rubbing his eyes, and fighting off the yawns that threatened to overtake him.

Shortly before sunset, he heard the sound, the closing of the door. Peering out from where he sat, he could see the slow, shuffled steps of the blacksmith. He had a cape thrown over his shoulders, and Will barely caught a glance as the man pulled the hood over his head to stave off the growing chill. It was time to move.

He was a little stiff from sitting for so long, his legs and joints protesting at the small movements, but each step became easier as he darted down the alleyway. Coming to a rest, his back pressed against the wall, Will glanced around him, making sure all was clear. Then he stepped across, to the window, and reached above his head. With a jump he was able to just grasp the beam, and he swung himself, getting a better grip. As he swung towards the window, he kicked out with his legs, shaking the boards.

The motion sent him swinging back, and again, on his return trip, he kicked out. One of the boards almost fell free, and on the third try, it was knocked completely clean. Will let himself drop, wincing as he hit the ground, but already he was moving. Despite the hour, he didn't want to linger, didn't want to give himself away.

It was warm inside, the air heated still by the recently burning coals the blacksmith had used to forge and shape his weapons. He stayed where he was, catching his breath, but listening also for any indication he had been heard. Once decided that he had not been, he was on the move.

There was enough light to see by, and he scoured the shop, smiling as he found what he had been searching for. He grasped the chisel in one hand, turning it over to inspect. It was sharp, and that might cause as many problems as it would solve them. But choice was not a luxury Will had, and the cuffs had to come off.

He held his hands out, studying the chain. There was not a lot of room to maneuver with, but he was certain he could manage. Will reached for the hammer that sat off to one side, laying his left wrist on the stone below. The end of the chisel he placed into the gap between the pieces, angling it so he could hold it with the same hand. A difficult feat, and he was more than certain what he was about to do would hurt. Gritting his teeth, he raised the hammer.

It came down, hitting the head of the chisel with a hard, metallic clink. He winced at the pressure, almost dropping the chisel. Again he raised the hammer. This time he did lose a hold of it, sending the instrument clattering across the floor. Will abandoned the hammer in order to get it, taking a few breaths to calm himself before trying again.

This time, the point worked its way into the metal, widening the gap ever so slightly. Will brought the hammer down, eager now to see his plan was working. It took one more, final blow, before the end snapped open. He couldn't help let out a happy cry, flexing his fingers, and rubbing his wrist. The first was done, and now it was time for the second. It was much easier, both having the practice, and more flexibility. It was still awkward, relying on his weak hand, but he managed. And when he was finished, Will let out a relieved sigh, massaging both his wrists. It was good to be free. But chains were not the only thing that had bound him.

Being here, in Nottingham, was still a threat. Guards were on the patrol, searching houses and homes, even shops for him. The sheriff, he had heard, was raving about his escape. He had happened to hear a couple of guards going on about it as he hid earlier. There was a lot of pressure on him, or so they had discussed. The new Master-at-Arms, it seemed, was a favorite among the prince, and Vaysey literally was on the edge of being replaced, as Gisborne had been. Will's escape was just one more problem that threatened to push the man over.

That meant he wasn't safe here. Regardless of the others, Will knew he could do nothing. Not in the state he was in. Barely able to stand on his own two feet, and without any weapons, or help, it was a lost cause. Will had come to the decision earlier. He would return to the camp. There were weapons there, food, a place for him to rest, and gather his strength.

And in some, silly hope, he thought of Robin. How long had it been since the man had taken off to find Much? It felt like forever, even longer than that. He could still remember how he argued with Robin, how he wanted to go along. He remembered what Robin had told him. That it would be some time before he returned. If at all. Those were thoughts he did not like. He needed Robin. Only Robin could come up with a plan to save the others. And he was no Robin Hood.

Yet the chances of Robin being at camp were slim. Surely, if the man had returned, he would have searched for them. Would have already freed them. But what if he didn't know? What if he believed it was too late, and felt as though nothing could be done? What if he _was_ back at camp, waiting for them? Will had to know, despite how foolish and petty it seemed. He was running out of options, and if something wasn't done soon, he feared it really would be too late.

For all of them.

**TBC**


	31. Breaking Point

**Many thanks for all the reviews, glad to know I have so many readers still. Once again, thanks to Kegel for her beta, and helping to get this out. **

**Just a heads-up, this chapter is a bit more intense than the last one, so read at your own risk **

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**Chapter 31: Breaking Point**

It had been an old trick, but it was one that worked well. The night hid him well as he made his way through the streets, hiding in the shadows whenever he heard a sound. From memory he found his way, grimacing at the smell as he knelt. Will did his best to not think about what it was he was actually smearing on his face and arms. But the dark, murky color helped to hide his pale flesh, and would make it easier to blend into his surroundings. It would be a necessity, considering what he was about to do.

The main path was closed; not that he would have gone that way during the day. He had not come all this way simply to be caught while leaving the town. Instead he found the break in the wall. What had caused the damage here was a mystery to them all. The cracks were deep, long and jagged, providing excellent support for climbing. He could scale the wall halfway, enough to reach one of the beams overhead that supported a roof of one of the larger buildings. Then it was a matter of moving from one roof to another, until he was able to reach the top of the wall.

Getting down safely on the other side would be more problematic, but he figured he would worry about it once he got there. With a breath he reached out, feeling for his first hold. Already his arms were shaking, his legs trembling to give way underneath him as he began to climb. After a few lengths, he found himself winded, hardly able to move on. It was startling to realize just how much strength he had lost since his capture.

He took a moment to rest his head against the stone, taking a few deep breaths and willing his body to stay strong. Then he moved a little further. The difficult part came in reaching the wooden beams. Normally it was fairly easy to push off from the wall and catch on. But he was afraid he wouldn't have the strength to do so. Somehow he found the courage, using as much strength as he could muster, and found himself falling through open air.

His fingers closed around the wood, bringing him to a sudden halt. Quickly he reached up with the other hand, securing his hold as he felt himself slip. Inside his chest his heart was hammering, the exertion clearly apparent. It was worrisome, for he wasn't sure how he would manage to go on if he was already this worn. He could feel his arms burning, his muscles protesting as he hung there, trying to encourage himself to go on.

Below he heard a sound, his eyes catching the faintest of light. It was coming from one of the alleys, the way beneath him growing brighter as the flickering of flames drew nearer. Will moved quickly, pulling himself up, grimacing as his arms protested. He tried swinging a leg over, but missed, almost losing his hold as he fell back down. His body swayed through open air, his hands moist and sweaty, his own weight pulling him down.

He could hear the voices now. And then the guards appeared from around the corner, the entire corridor now illuminated. Will felt himself slipping again, his breath catching in his throat at the thought of what would happen if he fell now. Again he swung himself up, even as he lost his hold.

He managed to get a leg around the beam. Quickly he grabbed a hold, crossing his other leg over as well. He was upside down now, hugging the wood with his all his might and holding his breath as the men passed directly underneath. The light flickered, growing dimmer as they went by, unaware of the outlaw that was just above their heads. Soon Will found himself in the darkness, breathing a sigh of relief, and a whispered prayer.

Righting himself up was difficult. But somehow he managed, allowing himself a small bit of rest before moving on. He took more care, fully aware of just how close he had come to being discovered. Normally it would have taken a matter of minutes to cross the roofs, and find his way onto the top of the wall. Now it was near an hour before he managed the same feat. Several times he had come to a stop, might have even dozed off at one point. He checked, and double checked his surroundings each time before he crossed. And then the wall three times before he set foot on the stone. If there were guards up here tonight, then they were well hidden.

He hurried along the wall, searching the ground below desperately for any sign of escape. One was found shortly, a pile of loose hay that had been shoveled into one corner. How much of a soft landing it would provide he could not say, but Will did not ponder it for long, knowing that time was short, and he could be discovered at any moment. Carefully he sat down on the edge, swinging his legs over. And in one motion, he dropped.

His landing was softened by the hay, but still he let out a grunt at the impact, staying where he had landed, and resting. Once the shock of it wore away, he forced himself to his feet. He might be out of Nottingham, but the safety of the forest was still a good length away.

Here, cluttered about the bridge, the homeless gathered about small fires. They shared among themselves bits of food that had been collected from garbage heaps, or that what was begged off before the sun had set. A few of them gave Will wary glances, but their expressions softened when they caught sight of his state, and they welcomed him like they would any other poor wretched soul who was unlucky enough to still be wandering around at this hour.

Will took the piece that was offered to him. He assumed it was some kind of bread, but he couldn't be certain, even as he swallowed, moving in closer to the fire. No one questioned who he was. No second glances came his way. Even so, he felt vulnerable. Will wondered if these people here knew of the deal, or if they even cared. They were without any homes, without any hopes. They would garner none of the reward for his capture, so what would it matter to them?

True, the sheriff had said that every village would profit from his capture. But these people here belonged to no village; they counted for nothing. Now he felt a bit of sympathy for them.

Robin always made sure the people of the villages had food, and whatever spare change they could give. But these were people here too, often far worse than those who had shelter, and a way to keep warm during the coldest of nights. How many times had he and the others given out food with a smile, only to completely pass these people by without a second thought?

And yet, here they were. Ready to help him, someone they didn't even know. Will had eaten what little had been given to him, had drunk the water passed his way. Now he was wrapped in a blanket, huddled near the fire, and finding himself almost lulled into sleep as he mulled over his thoughts. He had no intentions of staying here. His best chances were in the forest, were back at the camp. But Sherwood lay somewhere in the distance, and camp still a good walk away when he went at a steady pace. How far would he manage to go? Would he even make it to camp, he wondered? The night was growing colder, and hunger still gnawed at him, as well as exhaustion that threatened to take him over completely.

Perhaps, he reasoned, it would be better to wait. He was relatively safe here, he reasoned. The guards would assume him to be on the move somewhere in the town, not hiding out in front in plain sight. They would most likely not even look twice. He assumed he looked like much of the same…covered in filth, dressed in rags, and sporting a hollowed look from the lack of food.

And to some extent…he assumed he was much of the same as well. While the camp was his home, he wasn't sure if there was a point in returning. There were weapons there, resources that could help him. But Robin would not be there, he was certain.

Robin would have freed them by now had he returned. Which left him to the assumption the man had not. He had not known beforehand how long he would be gone in his quest to find out what had happened to Much. What was even more frightening was the thought that followed . That Robin might never return. What then, would happen? Not only to him, but to the others as well? Would the sheriff start taking more drastic measures? Or would the continued treatment finally do them all in?

Once again Will found himself longing for some answers. A time ago he had left on his own, accompanied by John and Allan after a disagreement with Robin. He had made some decisions, had gotten all of them into very real danger. Now he feared he would do something of the same, and desperately wished he had some guidance. He found himself looking over the field towards the forest, as if searching for some answers.

"Where are you, Robin?"

* * *

The water brought him back to unwanted awareness. He found himself sputtering, coughing as he tried to get in a breath, shivering at the chill. It contrasted oddly on his skin, making him more than aware where he was supporting burns, and bruises alike. Already he could feel his breath catching inside his chest, refusing to come out. His throat burned, having inadvertently swallowed some of the liquid.

Worse was the pain in his stomach. He had gone without food before, water as well, back during the war, so that was nothing new, and it was expected considering his position. Yet with everything that had taken place, Robin had found himself sick more than once, and even now, with nothing left in him, dry heaves wracked his already weakened body. It only added to the misery he was in, and apparently served as some form of amusement for the others that stood by and watched.

A few more times his stomach heaved, and when finally he was able to rest his chin against his chest, he let out a moan. He felt miserable. And he was quickly learning the difference between these men, and the sheriff back home.

Back when Gisborne had held him captive, the man could have easily killed him in a fit of rage. He lost his patience easily, was often distracted by other things. The sheriff could have him hang, uninterested in anything that could have been said. There might have been a more gruesome execution thought up, if the sheriff gave it any consideration, but the end result would be the same.

These men here, however, seemed to have nothing but time. And patience. They had done this before. More than once it seemed, and that thought terrified him. Despite his pains, Robin knew that the damage was not severe. Given proper rest, nourishment, and care, he would recover well enough. But that was not something he would be given. And he was no closer to escape than he had been before. His only chance at reprieve was the hope that they would grow weary of him, forget that he was here, or simply do away with him. He was ready, willing to accept that fate, if only it meant it would all end without his betraying Much in the process.

"You've had some time to think things over. Ready to talk yet?"

Robin didn't raise his head, taking in shallow breaths as he fought the nausea, and dealt with the pain. It was one thing he could be grateful for, the fact he had not said anything as of yet. By now, he had resorted to saying nothing. Robin had come to fear that he would let something inadvertently slip out if he even tried. It was easier this way. But he wasn't sure how much longer he could last.

"Still not convinced?" There was mock wonder in Latimer's voice, and a pause the followed. Then there was a clap, as he spoke again. "So, what shall we do today? The irons were fun, but personally I can't stand the smell."

He felt his heart quicken, trying at the same time to quench his fear. The burns covered mostly his upper chest, as well as his shoulders, a few times the hot metal had even been held against his throat, which made swallowing all the more painful. It was not something he wanted to endure a second time. But what frightened him more was what they might use in its place. What new sort of method would they come up with in order to provide some entertainment?

Robin jerked as the hand touched his side, trying to pull away. Bound as he was he did not have much freedom to do so, gritting his teeth as the fingers brushed his side, tracing scars that had long since adorned his side. He held his breath, gritting his teeth as he hissed.

"Do not touch me."

Latimer was grinning, accomplishment on his face, but he didn't pull away. "Back on speaking terms again, are we?"

Robin bit his lip, not saying anything further as he pressed his head back against the pole that was behind him. There were others in the room, several guards that stood back against the wall. Some were idly chatting, as though this was a common occurrence. Others watched in silence, betraying no emotions on their faces as they took in the ordeal before them. Near him, Latimer took a step back, as if surveying his work.

"Some nasty wounds there," the man remarked, "how did you get them?"

He answered the man with a blank stare, unable to figure out where he was going now. Latimer did not care about his well-being, that much was obvious. So why the sudden curiosity now?

"I would say, just out of speculation, that you've seen battle before," the man continued, unimpressed by his lack of response. "You've been to war, serving the king? Am I right?"

When Robin refused to answer another time, the man laughed. "I've never been to war, of course. Better things to do than fight Turks. But you're not the first person to cross through who has. That would make sense; I've broken stronger men, all I believe had been to war before. And I've seen you fire a bow before. You're quite good, you know."

The fact Latimer had guessed he served in the crusades was not a surprising one. Thousands of men had served at one time or another, or were still doing so. Why it had come up now was a surprising thing indeed, but Robin was grateful for the fact they hadn't tried anything more as of yet. It was a small respite, but he accepted it graciously.

The man circled him, as he often did, leaving his line of sight. And when he did not reappear on the other side, straight away, Robin bit his lip. What was the man up to now? He held his breath, straining to listen, in hopes to hear something, anything that would give him some sort of forewarning.

Then the hand grasped his, closing around several of his fingers on one of his hands. He felt himself tense, preparing for what might come. The man's breath could be felt on his neck, warm and dangerously close.

"So tell me; how well can a man shoot without any fingers?"

Futilely he tried to close his hand into a fist, but the grip on him was too strong. Robin felt his breath catch in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. The simple thought of what would happen was unbearable. Not only the physical pain, but the emotional one as well. Again he tried to struggle, hoping by some fate the man would not follow through.

"You can stop this," Latimer reminded him coldly, tightening his hold. "It's all up to you; just tell us what we want to hear."

He could feel the tears starting to come already. He could remember what Marian had told him, how everything was a choice. But what choice was this, to betray himself, or his friend in order to save his skin? Robin bit his lip, choking back the sob that was threatening to escape, hanging his head in defeat.

It came without warning, Latimer twisting his hand sharply to one side. Even through clenched teeth he cried out, hearing the bones break, and separate under the sudden pressure. A sharp, burning pain shot through his hand, following up his arm as the man let go. Feeble he tried to move them, to lessen the pain, to protect them somehow.

He felt the cold metal of a blade on his skin in the next moment, sliding between the ropes that bound him to the pole. They were cut quickly, the same with the ropes about his legs. Unaccustomed to supporting his weight, Robin collapsed to his knees, bringing his hand to his chest quickly. The freedom was only momentarily, two guards stepping up to grab him. Dazed, and distracted with the pain, Robin found himself hardly able to resist as he was once again rebound, this time so that his hands were in front of him.

Now he was on his knees, forehead resting on his outstretched arms, as he tried to catch his breath. The pain in his chest was lessened only by the new, blossoming pain in his fingers. They were throbbing fiercely, his entire arm feeling as though it was on fire. He jumped then, hissing as the first strike came, unaware until now what they had been doing.

There was another crack, and the whip came down, slicing clean into his back. Robin steeled his jaw, breath almost gone as he began to count, trying in vain to somehow distract himself from the pain. This was not the first time he had been whipped. Gisborne had given him a sound lashing some time ago, when he had been held captive in the dungeons back in Nottingham. That had been worse; Gisborne had wanted to cause lasting damage. The men here were still working methodically, careful to not wound too greatly. But it didn't make the pain any easier to bear.

There was a round of strikes, about half a dozen, when the first lapse came. Robin let out the pitiful breath he had, his body shaking. If they kept this up, it wouldn't matter how careful they were. Robin was certain his body would give up simply from stress. He could taste blood again, discovering he had bit clear through his lip at one point. And the moisture on his face was a mixture of tears and sweat. More of the first, he reasoned. He was parched, despite the drenching that had happened earlier.

"Are we getting the message yet?" Latimer wondered, coming to stand in front of him. Robin could see the tops of his boots, and made little effort in raising his head. The man laughed softly, turning away as a new set of footsteps could be heard, several protests sounding through the air.

"Is he the one?"

Robin turned to see what the commotion was. Then he felt his heart sink. Mercer had arrived, along with Dax. Between them, they had Rhodri. The boy caught his eye, and Robin could see the terror behind them. Robin let his gaze drop, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed. He didn't like where this was going, and suddenly felt horribly ill.

"Sorry it took so long," Mercer apologized, shoving the boy forward. "Lot of children here, but this is the one he's been with."

"Good, bind him over there."

"What are you doing?" It was one of the guards who had spoken, and Robin raised his head, realizing he recognized the voice. Then he knew why. It was Nathaniel, and he stepped forward, moving towards them. "He's just a boy."

"Get back in rank," Latimer warned him coldly. "Or feel free to join him."

For a moment Nathaniel did not move, but finally he gave in with a nod, moving back against the wall. Robin tried to catch the man's eyes, hoping that he might somehow be able to reach him. If the man was against what was happening now, maybe there was still a chance for the both of them. He was distracted as Latimer approached him, a smug smile on his face.

"So, this is how this will work," he nodded to where the boy was being bound to the wall. The shackles were secured around his wrists shortly after the lad was stripped of his upper garments. He was shivering in the cold, or perhaps from fear, it was difficult to tell.

"You tell us what we want, and the boy leaves unharmed. Obviously we can't go on beating you, without risking unwanted results. But I wonder how far you would let an innocent child be tortured?"

Robin found himself swallowing, watching as one of the guards stepped forward to take the whip from Latimer's outstretched hand. It was then he knew he was defeated. He couldn't allow this to happen, and the sobs from the boy twisted his heart even more. Letting out a bitter cry of his own, he finally gave in.

"Alright, what do you want?"

"That's more like it," Latimer replied chirpily. "We'll start with a name."

He glanced quickly over to where Rhodri was before answering. "Robin Hood…my name is Robin Hood."

"Robin Hood?"

It was Dax who had spoken then, the man having until now disappeared into the shadows. When he was turned to, the man dropped his gaze, pretending to have not said anything as Latimer came near him.

"You know him?"

Robin watched as the man shrugged his shoulders. "Sort of. I…Eloy and I heard about him, back on one of our scouting missions. I thought they were just stories."

"Stories?" he turned back to Robin. "Are they stories?"

Robin shook his head, grimacing at the pain. "What reason would I have to lie?"

"Then tell me, who is your contact?"

"There isn't one," Robin breathed quietly. How that would be taken he wasn't certain. Latimer was convinced that there had been one from the start. And now nothing he could say would prevent the boy from taking the punishment if Latimer thought otherwise. But before anything could be said, Dax was talking once more.

"That might be so. Back when we were in Nottinghamshire, people said he was an outlaw."

"An outlaw?" the man laughed. "What reason does an outlaw have to snoop around here?"

The question in itself was an ironic one, considering the trade they were involved with was illegal. But he held his tongue, coming to a decision that they would not appreciate sarcasm. He couldn't risk anything, not when Rhodri was involved.

"I've come to stop this," he answered, lifting his head despite the pain. That response garnered some laughter.

"Is that so? And just how were you planning on doing that?"

Robin's gaze flicked to where Dax stood, catching his glare only briefly. He could tell the other man was tense. It would be easy to give him away, but at the same time Robin knew he never would. It wouldn't accomplish anything, save for endangering even more innocents. He turned away, shaking his head.

"You didn't just come for that reason," Latimer mused, circling him. He came to a stop, rubbing his chin. "Nottingham, did you say?"

Dax nodded. "Yes…why do you ask?"

"Didn't you bring a new worker back from there? Supposed to be a boy, but instead you brought a full grown man? I can remember how displeased Alfred was about that."

Robin felt his throat tighten, his heart almost refusing to beat. Latimer was not paying attention to him, focused instead on Dax as Robin shot him a worried glance. What would they do to him, he wondered? It was bad enough for all of this to happen to him, but to Much?

"Yes…I remember."

"A coincidence? Doubtful. I'd like for you to find him, bring him here. It'll be interesting to see what answers we get then."

He felt sick, blaming himself even though he knew it was folly to do so. Robin had come to rescue Much. He should have done so when they had the chance. Instead, Much was now going to pay for his foolishness in a far worse manner than he had already endured.

"That—won't be possible," Dax answered suddenly, causing Latimer to turn back to him.

"And why is that?"

"The cave-in," the man explained quietly. "He was...he died. I saw him yesterday when they were clearing out the bodies."

"Another coincidence?" Latimer wondered, frowning. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," this time there was no hesitation on the others part. "I remember, because Eloy and I had such a difficult time getting him here. It wasn't worth the effort."

Robin scarcely dared to breathe. It was a lie. Much was alive, he had seen the man only the night before. Or was it several nights ago now? Robin couldn't remember how long he had been down here. Dax was either mistaken…or he was lying. But why?

"A shame," Latimer finally responded, pretending to be upset. "Such a waste, seeing the fun we could have had up here."

He had crossed the room once more, coming to a stop in front of Robin. He knelt, so that he was at his eye-level, arms crossed over one knee. "You should have stayed where you came from. It isn't polite to go poking around into other people's business. Not that it will matter after this," he mused, turning to one of the guards just then.

"Kill him. Get rid of the body, I don't care how."

**TBC**


	32. Truths

**Many, many thanks to Kegel for the beta – and to all those who left a review. I love reading them through and hearing all of your thoughts.**

**Onto the next part XD**

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* * *

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**Chapter 32: Truths**

The footsteps echoed in his ears as the man paced back and forth. Robin tried to block out the sound, squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his forehead into the crease of his arm. His breaths still were short, even after all this time, the pain seeming to have only amplified as the minutes wore on. What was happening, he wasn't sure. His knowledge extended only so far. One moment, the cold blade of a knife had come to rest against his throat, ready to slice the flesh clean open. Then it had disappeared, and argument breaking out. The others had left him, save for Latimer, who stood watch, pacing back and forth still, an impatient scoff being drawn from him.

Robin opened his eyes when the sound stopped, his gaze taking in the tops of the man's boots. He turned away as the man spoke, trying in vain to block out what was said. His head hurt enough, and any type of sound was making it worse. Yet the words were heard easily, the tone cold and mocking.

"He thinks he's doing you a favor, keeping you alive," Latimer took the time to explain. "Alfred won't have it; he'll have you as a worker. That's right; you'll spend the rest of your days trapped in the mines. And I can guarantee that while you're down there, that every day will be Hell. The guards won't hesitate to single you out. And how do you think the other workers will receive you? Knowing that you were once a guard, that you were responsible for their captivity?"

He had nothing to do with their captivity. Instead he had the intention of setting them free. Yet he wondered if that mattered. There were only three people who knew of this plan, and he doubted he would be seeing any of them again. Part of Robin wondered what had prevented Latimer from killing him already, and claiming innocence after the fact. It seemed Alfred was the only man Latimer feared, and until the decision was made, one way or another, Latimer would not harm him any further. Robin almost found himself laughing at the irony.

He hurt already. He doubted he could hurt any worse than he was now. He felt as though his body was on fire, but even so shivered fiercely in the light chill. As for his fingers, he could barely feel them, unable to move them even in the slightest, and his wrists were so badly chaffed that blood coated his skin. As for his back, as well as his side, they were among the list of ever-growing injuries.

"He's weak; he's always been weak. Just because you spared the boy, now he feels he has to do something. But he's stupid too," the man was rambling now, his voice fading, as though he was lost in thought. Then he scoffed once more. "Does he really think keeping you as a slave will make amends? If it was up to me, you'd already be dead. You still might be a dead man, so don't get your hopes up."

There was something about the way he had said it that perked Robin's interest. But he didn't have the luxury of time to think it over. He could hear the others returning, and his breath caught in his throat, fearful of what was to come. Latimer had left him, moving towards the stairs as a group of guards descended. Robin caught sight of their faces, recognizing a few of them from earlier.

"Take him to the guardhouse."

Latimer started at once, "He can't be allowed to live."

"The decision is made," Nathaniel argued, his voice unwavering. "We've lost too many workers; Alfred wants all the help we can get. What better person to use than a dead man?"

"This is because of that little sniveling brat-"

"Latimer," Robin could see Dax moving into the fray, breaking into the argument before it could get out of hand. "I was there when he spoke with Alfred. The prisoner will be allowed to live for now, until more suitable replacements can be found. Nathaniel will be taking charge until then."

So he would be allowed to live. At least for now. How long this would last…Robin bit his lip, closing his eyes as his head came to a rest against his arms once more. There was a long, baited silence, but Latimer finally gave in, though reluctantly. The disapproval could be heard in his voice underneath a whisper, cold and uninviting, and Robin had a strange, growing suspicion that this would not be the last he saw of the man. Part of that worried him, but it also gave him hope. It meant he was to live.

He let out a gasp, followed by a whimper as two of them seized him by the arms. His bonds were cut, and he was pulled to his feet, fingers digging into his flesh as their holds tightened. Robin was barely able to keep his feet under him, and for the most part he didn't even walk. That did not seem to slow the pace of the men, however. Instead they seemed satisfied on dragging him, pulling him up the stairs and along the hallway.

There were others up here, who had not witnessed what had happened down below. Yet Robin assumed they had heard, for there was no surprise in any of their faces. Some wore similar expressions to what Latimer had, smug and amused, while others pretended to not notice at all. Robin could feel the burn in his cheeks, but he figured that was more from the exertion than the humiliation.

He was taken to the back of the manor, where they paused to wait while another one of the men fumbled with a set of keys. Soon after, the door swung open with a click, and Robin was pulled inside. No sooner than he had been, the men let go, and Robin landed on the floor with a heavy thud, unable to support himself in the least. He groaned, trying to will his sore body to respond, but he couldn't resist as his hands were once again bound, this time to shackles that were embedded in the floor.

It was a sort of a prison house. Robin swallowed, glancing around. The room was small, with one window that was too narrow to pass even a hand through, high above his head. Aside from a chest that sat to one side, the room was bare. He took in a few more breaths, trying to calm his racing heart, and fighting with the pain that was rising in his chest.

"I'll need my supplies, and some fresh water," he could hear Nathaniel's voice behind him somewhere, talking to one of the others. Robin lay his head down, closing his eyes. If only he could get some sleep…

He started as the door was slammed, the lock clicking back into place. No sooner than it had, Nathaniel could be heard stalking across the room, an angry growl on his lips.

"You are a fool!"

Robin watched as the man knelt down in front of him, grasping the chains that held him. He made quick work of them, letting the shackles fall to the floor.

"Stay there," he was warned. Robin wet his lips, watching as the man left him, crossing the room to where the chest was. Soon after, he turned his attention to his fingers. It was the first two on his right hand that were bad. They jutted out at an odd angle, turning an angry red, and were easily swollen. He couldn't bend them, couldn't move them anyway even in the slightest. Robin let out a hiss when he tried, cradling the throbbing limb against his chest.

"Did you really not think they would figure it out?" Nathaniel continued from across the room. He was pulling some garments free, shaking them roughly to get the dust off. "That you show up out of nowhere, that you use a man's name you didn't even know? You got Stephan's name from somewhere. So you should have known he would have eventually shown up. This is not some game that they are playing. It's real, and it's dangerous. Nothing goes on here that they don't know about."

He had expected many of things, but never once had the thought of being lectured crossed his mind. Slowly he took a breath, answering softly, unsure if an answer was expected at all.

"I figured I'd have more time."

"Right," Nathaniel responded coldly, "like I said, you're a fool."

He paused where he was for a moment, holding the cloth between his hands before letting out a sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, and Robin could barely hear what was said.

"You might be a fool, but you're not cruel."

Nathaniel turned, coming towards him. He set the clothes on the ground with a sigh. "Change into these. Not the shirt; I'll need to clean your back before you put that on."

Robin grasped the fabric with his good hand, pulling it near him. It was coarse, old and torn in several places. But it was clean, a vast difference in comparison with what he wore now. But he didn't move, not right away, instead turning to look at the other man, thinking over what he had said.

"This is about Rhodri?"

Nathaniel nodded without hesitation, answering him. "I know a lot of men here that would have just let the boy take a beating. They would have been glad to do so as well. You're different."

He could hear the knock at the door, Robin turning towards the sound as Nathaniel did. The man motioned for him to stay put, crossing the room himself. The door was opened, a short conversation held, and a moment later, the man returned, a cloth bag over his shoulder, and a bucket of water in one hand. He set both of them down near where Robin lay, digging through the contents.

"He's your son," Robin breathed quietly. It was more of a statement, the speculation growing inside of him. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He watched as Nathaniel slowed his movements, coming to a pause, but slowly he nodded.

"Yes."

Looking now, Robin could see the resemblance. Rhodri had spoken about his father before, but Nathaniel had said nothing about a son, so Robin had never before thought of it as being a possibility. What Latimer said before, and how Nathaniel had first reacted when they brought Rhodri in. It was all making sense. But something still did not sit right with him, and he couldn't help but wonder.

"You would have let them…do that to him?"

The man let out a sigh. "Rhodri might be my son, but Alfred still owns him. I have no say in what happens to him."

"You're his father," Robin pressed him slightly. He couldn't imagine such an agreement would be made. That someone would allow their own child to be held in enslavement, and subjected to such horrors as he had witnessed here. It was the parent's job to protect their children, no matter the cost. And yet, Nathaniel had not done so.

"I am lucky to see him at all," Nathaniel told him, reaching out to grab his arm. Robin winced as the man pressed a rag against his wrist, cleaning the wounds that occurred from the ropes that had bound him earlier. "It would be worse if I tried to interfere. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," Robin hissed as the first bandage was wound about his wrist. He wanted to understand, wanted to know more about what went on. It was a solid reminder of why he had come here in the first place. And furthermore, for some strange reason, he trusted the man. A hard thing to do considering the position he was in.

"I work here as a guard with little pay so that I may see my son. I do my best in the hopes that he will be given work as a guard when he is old enough, rather than be sent to the mines as is accustomed with the other children. Most of them are orphans; they have no one to speak for them. I can only speak for Rhodri as much as Alfred and his men will allow. I will not risk losing him, and as difficult as it may be, I must allow the others to do what they feel is necessary. Even if I don't agree with it."

"They might have killed him," Robin warned him. He had been willing to sacrifice himself to save the child, and yet he barely knew the boy. Why couldn't Nathaniel do the same for his own son?

"No," Nathaniel shook his head. "They would have given him a sound licking, but no more. Slaves are expensive, and hard to find. Children especially, and Alfred feels he can manipulate me by using Rhodri. If I tried to stop what was happening, then I would have received the same punishment. And then they would have sent Rhodri to work in the mines after, just to spite me. I would have not been able to care for him. Or you, for that matter."

He tied the last of the bandage around his other wrist, sitting back. Robin grimaced, meeting the man's gaze. "None of this would have happened if it wasn't for me," he told him quietly. "Why did you save me?"

"I don't know," Nathaniel admitted. "Pity? Respect?" he shrugged, moving to his feet. "Go ahead and change; I'll take care of your back in a moment."

It took some effort, but Robin somehow found his feet, long enough to discard the soiled leggings, and pull the fresh ones on. How worn he truly was became soon apparent, as he was winded from the small feat, all too happy to ease himself back down to the ground. His back was still on fire, his hand throbbing where the limbs were mangled, but what was more pressing were the questions on his mind.

"Was he born here?"

"No, but he might as well have been," Nathaniel answered, sitting back down in front of him, fresh supplies in his lap. Robin winced as the man reached out for his hand again. Then he let out a sharp cry as Nathaniel lifted his fingers, inspecting them.

"You're lucky."

"I'm not sure I see how," Robin muttered, closing his eyes. He was beginning to feel nauseous again, and though the man was gentle with his administrations, it didn't lessen the pain at all.

"It's a clean break," Nathaniel explained, "I can fix this."

He moved some of the materials around, searching for the right one. A small bit of wood, smooth and flat, close the same length of his fingers. Robin held his breath as his hand was picked up once more. "This will hurt."

And it did. He could feel the bones move, shifting against one another at the quick, jarring motion. But shortly after the pain subsided; it was still there, but considerably less than what it had been before. Robin bit his lip as the man held the fingers together, binding them carefully.

"His mother, my wife, was promised to Alfred to settle a debt caused by another man, who was her owner at that time. She died in childbirth, and so Rhodri was sent in her place. I was able to find him, and I was willing to pay off the debt, but Alfred wouldn't allow it. We came to an agreement that I could stay, and be with him, as long I did as was expected."

He finished the bandage, Robin taking his hand quickly away. The pain had subsided to a dull throb, lacing through his hand and up his arm. The slightest of movement seemed to make it worse. He held the limb against his chest, holding his breath and waiting for it to lessen.

"Your wife was always a slave then?" Robin breathed, curious now. It was a common occurrence here, to see one of the men take a serving woman to his bed. But it was difficult to fathom anyone doing so, simply witnessing what happened to the children after they were born. A life of servitude to a master who cared little about their existence. Why would anyone even chance for something like that to happen?

"Not always," Nathaniel let out a sigh. "I've made mistakes in my life; I incurred debts I could not pay. As a result, my wife, and my son, paid for them. I might have failed my wife, but I am attempting to do right by my son."

"If you wanted to do right, you could just leave," Robin told him quietly, grasping the cup that was handed to him a bit awkwardly. The water was cool, refreshing, and he drank greedily, hoping to quell the emptiness in his stomach. In front of him, Nathaniel was shaking his head.

"No one leaves the mines; the few that have were hunted down. Even if we were able to get away, Rhodri and I would always be on the run. We could never stay in one place. And if we were caught…that is no way to live."

"Is it any better to live like this?" Robin wondered, setting the cup down. There was no answer. He stayed where he was even as Nathaniel moved. Despite being prepared for it, he winced as the rag came down against his back, working to clean the welts he knew where there.

"Is it true what he said? About the war? You were there, weren't you?"

Robin nodded, swallowing. There wasn't much of a point in hiding any facts now that he was found out. He didn't like the vulnerability, but at the moment he was too exhausted to really care.

"What you said, it was true as well? Are you an outlaw?"

"Yes," Robin hissed as the cloth worked into one of the deeper welts. There was a brief apology from Nathaniel, but the man hardly stopped in his administrations.

"So, how does one go from fighting for the king to being an outlaw?"

"I was wounded, and sent home," Robin explained briefly. There was a lot he could say, and he was certain Nathaniel would listen to every word, but his heart just wasn't in it. "The Sheriff of Nottinghamshire was to hang four men for stealing. I disagreed with it, and prevented them from hanging. It did not put me on the best of terms with the sheriff."

"If you were running away, why come here? You could have gone anywhere, somewhere safer."

"Locksley is my home," he answered, wincing as the administrations continued, "and I wasn't running away. I came here for a reason."

"The man they spoke of, he was your friend?" Nathaniel wondered, "I'm sorry, about what happened to him."

"He's not dead," Robin bit his lips, not having been able to stop the words. He didn't want to involve Much, it was better off if everyone believed him dead. Behind him, Nathaniel must have paused, and his voice was tense.

"Dax said-"

"He was mistaken," Robin was quick to cut him off. He didn't know what Dax's intentions were. If the man had knowingly lied, then it meant he might be useful. And if that was the case, proclaiming he had done so intentionally would only put him in danger. But if it was just a mistake…Robin let out a groan as a salve was rubbed into the cuts on his back.

"It'll help prevent infection," Nathaniel told him. The man was done, coming back around. He offered another cup of water, but Robin shook his head. The one he had before was not doing so well on his stomach, and he was starting to feel nauseous Nathaniel didn't press him, instead turning to pick up the shirt that had been discarded earlier, holding it out to him.

"What happens now?" Robin asked, working to pull the garment on.

If what Latimer said was true, he would go and work in the mines. That was a good thing, he figured. He needed to be able to get inside if he was to see his plan through. Perhaps with enough time, he could even convince Nathaniel to help him as well. Maybe it wouldn't be too difficult, seeing he had already gained the man's favor unintentionally. But if Nathaniel was to even see him after this, was speculative.

"You stay here," Nathaniel explained. The man picked up the shackles, watching him with a frown. "I trust that you wouldn't try and leave, but I still have orders."

Robin nodded. He had figured that much would happen. There was no resistance on his part as the shackles were tightened about his wrists. The cloth between the metal and his skin helped to lessen the pain, but the chains were still awkward and heavy.

"You'll be able to move around the room a bit, but you won't be able to reach the door or the window," Nathaniel went on. He nodded to a bucket on the far side, the meaning clear enough. At least he would be allowed some decency while he was here.

"I won't be back until the morning, before I go down in the mines. Then after, again. I'll bring you something to eat, and check your injuries. Alfred wants you down in the mines by the end of the week, so you'll need to rest, regain your strength. The mines are unforgiving to those who are not well."

So he would be sent to the mines. Robin couldn't help but smile a little despite the situation he was in. There might still be a chance after all. A moment later, he was surrounded in darkness, the door being locked somewhere behind him. He was still feeling slightly ill, and the pain was not helping the situation. But he was alive. That was a start.

In the darkness he groped, chains dragging across the floor as he felt with one hand. His fingers closed around the bag Nathaniel had used, smiling. He had wondered if the man had left it behind on purpose. There was not much inside, a few vials, bitter smelling, and a roll of bandages. But it would do. Awkwardly he pulled the bag towards him, laying his head down with a sigh. It provided some cushioning, and already he could feel the heavy blanket of sleep pulling him away. He didn't fight it; Nathaniel was right. He would need his rest if he was to be ready for what would happen next.

* * *

He woke before any of the others, which he suspected was a good thing in the end. There were fires burning still, small and almost exhausted in the early hours. Still, there was warmth in the coals, helping to chase out the chill that resided in his hands. Will rubbed them together briskly, watching as the first light began to creep into the sky.

He wasn't sure how much the previous night's sleep had helped. Will still felt worn, his limbs still heavy, and his body longing for nothing more than to curl back up and sleep some more. But he had to move on. He could reach camp by mid-day if he set off now, and kept a steady pace. It would be good to get some decent food, and clean linen. It would only last a short time, he knew. He would have to come back for the others. And the sooner he did, the better it would be. Who knew what the sheriff was doing to them while he was free from harm?

The thought brought him to his feet, Will making his way out into the open carefully. After checking to see if the coast was clear, he headed for the line of trees. His hood was still pulled around his face, and he kept his head down as he hurried along. Still he felt vulnerable, and only when he passed into the forest did he feel safe. But he didn't slow down.

Part of Will worried that if he did allow himself to rest, he would linger longer than what was wise. He would get to camp, take care of what was needed, and be on his way back. Hopefully before the next morning. That seemed like it was so far away, and his heart clenched in fear at the thought of leaving the others for so long. What if he came back, and found out it was too late?

He swallowed the fear, forcing himself to travel a little faster. He could save time, he reasoned, if he didn't stop for any rest. How possible that would be, he couldn't say. The truth of the matter was that he couldn't keep going like this. He wouldn't be of any use to the gang if he was to fall asleep in the middle of a rescue attempt. And now, he was beginning to think the sleep did more harm than help.

Suddenly Will came to a pause. A moment later, he dodged behind a tree, resting his weight against it. He could have sworn…yes, he heard it again. The faint murmur of voices, the breaking of branches under heavy weight. It could have been an animal; Will could remember the first few days he had lived in the forest. Every sound had made him jump. Even birds had seemed to sound far larger than what they really were. It could be an animal, but Will knew it wasn't. Animals didn't talk.

Slowly he crept out from where he was standing, moving across the path and sheltering himself behind another tree. Each time he moved, he did so with care, with quick steps, but placing each one careful, just as Robin had taught him. Silent running, the ability to move through the forest at a quick pace while making hardly any noise. This was useful in not only hunting, but times, such as now.

It took ten, maybe fifteen minutes before he found the culprits. Guards, and a number of them, a sweeping line through the forest. Will sat behind a large base of rocks, watching from underneath his hood. He counted five, all moving in a jagged group, more attention being paid on the conversation than anything else. What were they doing here?

"How long do we have to stay out here?" one the men called suddenly. There were a few answers, some suggesting a few hours, but one man, the one in charge, Will assumed, spoke for all of them.

"You heard the sheriff. We're supposed to find the outlaw."

So they were looking for him. Of course they would be. They would assume that Will would have gone for the forest. Now Vaysey had half of his men out searching for him. He started to pull back, preparing to leave, when he heard them again, enticing him to stay.

"I thought he was dead."

"That's what they say; the sheriff wants proof. He wants the body."

"Bloody 'ell, we're in a forest," one the men complained, "he's probably buried somewhere, or eaten by now. We'll be out here forever."

"Just be lucky you're out here, and not in there," another man said, jutting a thumb in the general direction of the castle. "I heard another one got loose. Entire town is in a lockdown, they're not letting anyone in or out, except for us guards. And the guards that let him get away…let's just say they won't be working there any longer."

A lockdown? Because of him? Will bit his lip, shrinking behind the rock. But if they suspected he was in the town still, then who were they looking for? Will felt his heart quicken a beat. Robin. They were looking for Robin. That was what they meant by proof. The sheriff was trying to prove that Robin was indeed dead.

But with five guards? He poked his head back out, counting them. There had to be more. That was how he was able to get out so easy, that was why so many guards were unaccounted for. They were here, in the forest. And that was not a good thing. Will let out a sigh, pressing his back against the rocks. Camp was still a walk away, and who knew where the guards were. If he was spotted, or followed, or was already being followed…he would lead them straight to it.

He couldn't risk it. If he got the others out, they would need somewhere to go. It would do them no good if the sheriff and his lackey's knew where their camp was. And what would happen to Robin if the man did return? _When,_ Will reminded himself. Not if, but when the man returned. If the sheriff knew of the camp's location, then there would be an ambush waiting when the man returned.

Will swallowed, turning to look back down the path. Getting out of the forest shouldn't be hard. But how would he get back into the town? Only guards were being let in, according to what the others said here. He had posed as a guard before, more than once. It was easy, but Will wasn't sure how easy it would be to find one of these men alone. They would raise an alarm if he was spotted, and even if he got away, his plan would be foiled, and then there would be no hope.

But he had to try.

**TBC**


	33. A Dark Tale

**Finally have the next chapter up; thanks for all of your patience. Thanks to Kegel for the beta!**

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**Chapter 33: A Dark Tale**

Robin was not certain how long he had slept when he next woke. He could see the daylight streaming through the window above, could hear the faint sounds of the world outside even from his position. A little piece of comfort throughout everything that was going on. He let out a groan, closing his eyes.

There was pain; one that was different than what he had been in before. His entire body felt as though it was stiff, muscles protesting at the small movements that were made. A breath escaped his lips as he came to rest on his side, head resting on one of his outstretched arms. How much he wanted to pretend that everything that had happened was no more than a terrible dream.

The pounding in his head told him different. It had a tempo all of its own, stealing his breath every now and then, the rest of his body seizing at random intervals. More than once he found himself battling away invisible demons, on the verge of delirium, only to come back to consciousness a few moments later. It was difficult to tell if he was improving, or getting worse.

Somehow he had managed to fall asleep again. He woke much later, noting the passing of the time due to the change in sounds, and the fading of the light that would soon cast him into darkness once more. How long had he been here now? A day? Or had he been so unaware of the passing time that it had been longer?

New pains had sprung up during his slumber. His throat felt restricted, his mouth dry and lips cracked. His stomach too, had new complaints, twisting angrily on itself as though it was just beginning to realize it hadn't a single morsel in a length of time. He tried to push it from his mind, to focus on something else. There was nothing he could do to change things.

While he had the ability to move, Robin did not have the desire. He felt as stiff and sore as he had earlier, and his side still gave him trouble enough just trying to bring air into his body. Shifting a little lessened the pressure, and Robin found himself focusing on the rest of his body.

The wounds to his back were not great. There he had been lucky, having before known what real damage could be sustained from a whip. Gisborne had shown him that, and yet that felt as though it had happened years ago, in a time he could hardly remember, as though it was in another past. So much had happened since his confinement in the dungeons at Nottingham. And yet somehow he had managed to find a way out each and every time. He reasoned it would be the same here, but he couldn't help but wonder if he had tried his luck one too many times. Maybe this was where everything was to end.

It meant he would never see Locksley again. Never would he set foot again in Sherwood, or visit the house in which he had grown up. His men would manage without him, he was certain. John had led his own band of men once, and Will was learning fast and becoming bolder. Yes…they were strong.

And Much…fortune might allow him to see the man again. But how could he face him, only to explain he had failed? Then there was Marian. He felt his chest tighten at the thought, wincing at the pain. The idea of facing her when he returned had always unnerved him. The thought of never seeing her again, however, wasn't a pleasant one. He always held a hope, as foolish as it had been, that Marian would one day become his wife.

Why had he let that opportunity pass? She was right, he had chosen glory over her. And in doing so, he had lost his chance at ever having her. How things could have happened, had he stayed behind…maybe, he felt, in some small way, he could have prevented all of this from happening. He would have never supported Vaysey's bid, and the other nobles might have been swayed. The thoughts troubled him, made him feel slightly ill.

He pushed them from his mind, toying instead with the cloth that bound his fingers. How well could a man shoot without any fingers? They were still there, but damaged as they were, they might as well have been lost. Nathaniel had said they could be fixed…but fixed, and whole, were two different things. Robin had seen men break bones before. Had seen how they healed. A leg always resulted in a limp, an arm always ended up weak. Fingers could never hold again…

He wouldn't be able to shoot again. The statement sounded hollow to him, as though it was being made about someone else, rather than himself. As though it was some sort of gossip passed along at the marketplace, pitying the creature it had happened to. Even seeing it, right before his own eyes, Robin still had difficulty accepting the statement to be true.

He soon lost interest in that endeavor, feeling the fatigue pull at him once more despite the lack of any sort of exertion. Robin slept, fitfully, waking up at random intervals, covered in sweat, or shivering at an intense chill. Each time he woke he was aware of the bitter taste in his mouth, and at the way his stomach turned underneath him. One of the times he could remember someone there with him, easing him up and helping him to drink.

Half-asleep, and consumed still by the night terrors that plagued him he could have sworn it was Much by his side. The man tended to his wound and helped to fight the fever that tore through him angrily. The sun was high overhead and the sounds of war could be heard just beyond the tent. Desperately he had tried to get up, fumbling for a weapon, but Much hadn't let him.

Instead the man had forced him down, and had gone out on his own. Robin had called out after him, had wanted for him to come back. He tried to get up again, but couldn't manage, too weak from everything that had taken place. The sounds of the battle were louder now, closer to where he was; he could hear someone cry out, the smell of blood and death lingering in the air.

Robin woke in a cold-sweat, crying out. His voice echoed around him in the small chamber, his heart pounding underneath him. For a few, strenuous minutes, he was disorientated. The war…no…there was no war. He wasn't in Acre, he was here…in England, in Sherwell, trapped still in this prison. And Much…Much had never been there. A dream…it was all a dream.

Robin closed his eyes, letting the shock and the fear subside. The dreams were as vivid as they had always been, forcing him into another world he knew all too well. One he no longer wished to be a part of, but couldn't escape no matter how hard he tried. The demons seemed to taunt him, tormenting him for all he had done, a constant reminder of his own sins. Robin lay where he was, trembling still in the cold of the night.

As the minutes passed by, his breaths became even, the knowledge that it was simply a dream helping him to calm his mind. There were the familiar pangs of hunger, but so quiet now he hardly noticed. Instead it was the constant burn in his throat that caught his attention, and he could see the bucket not too far away.

He willed himself to move, despite the discomfort, edging closer to the container. Once there, he was able to scoop some of the water out, cupping his hand and bringing it to his lips greedily. It helped to soothe the ache in his throat, easing his stomach a little as well. The small feat exhausted him. however, Robin laying his head down where he was, with no attempt of moving away. This time, when he slept, his slumber was uneventful, the earlier demons gone. When he woke next, he could notice the change. He was feeling better.

There was still pain; that in itself had not changed much, but his strength had started to return. The fever which had accompanied him the night before had fled and he was left with an insatiable hunger. So much so that he was grateful to hear the door open, and he somehow managed to pull himself to a sitting position.

"You're awake," Nathaniel remarked, some surprise in his voice. He had with him the satchel from before; Robin hadn't noticed until now it had even been gone. The man must have taken it sometime while he had slept. What he noticed more was the bundle underneath his arm, and there was no question on his part when it was held out for him.

He grasped it awkwardly, resting it on his lap as he pulled back the cloth, tearing off a piece with his good hand and bringing the bit of bread up to his lips soon after. It was still warm, no doubt having just been made a few moments before. The evening meal must have started in the common room. Robin chewed hastily, taking another bite as Nathaniel worked at the shackles around his wrists.

It felt good to be free of the heavy weight. Robin knew it would not last forever, taking a moment to relish in the feeling. He winced next, however, as Nathaniel unwrapped the cloths that bound his wrists. The welts were still an angry red, some blood having stained the white bandages. They began to bleed once more as the man started to clean them. Robin grimaced, but didn't pull away at the administrations.

"Bad dreams? Was it the war?"

Robin chewed the last bite he had taken thoughtfully before he answered. He did not even choose to discuss these matters with Much, and the man had faced the same terrors. It was something he could deny; Nathaniel would not be any of the wiser. But he owed him more than that, for all he had done. For all he was still doing. His brow furrowed, a deep grimace as the fresh bandage was applied. The attention was turned to his other hand, forcing his meager supping to come to a halt for the time being.

"I've been with fever before; it brings back unwanted memories," Robin chose to explain. Not so much a lie as it was a diversion from the truth. Nathaniel had seen him during his fevered throes, and it had been him, not Much, who had tended to him. The knowledge of his vulnerability frightened him. There was nothing that could be done about that, yet Robin knew that it was not something that had to be spoken of.

The last of the bandage was tied off, and a flask pressed into his waiting hand. Robin took a few, small sips to wash down the bread he had already eaten. The water was fresh, cold, somewhat sweet. He reasoned he needed as much as he could get, knowing that the times to come would potentially be worse. Nathaniel motioned for him to take his shirt off, a fresh rag in his hands.

"His name is Much?" the question caught him off guard, almost as much as when the rag touched his wounded back. Robin winced, gritting his teeth as the first of many welts were cleaned. They were still tender, his body protesting at the administrations. He let his breath go when there was a pause, fumbling for an answer.

"Who?"

"The man…I think, at least," Nathaniel explained, "You called for him several times."

Much…he had dreamt about him, had envisioned that the man had been here. But he couldn't remember calling for him. Yet it must be true…he had not spoken of Much to anyone here. How else would it be known? Robin swallowed, feeling as though he had just betrayed his loyal friend. How long would it be before they went searching for him? And what would happen when they found him?

"I won't tell anyone," Nathaniel reassured him, seeming as though he had sensed Robin's discomfort. "I'm just guessing really. It wouldn't matter if did tell someone; it's not like Alfred really values my opinion."

"He must value it some," Robin reminded him. "He let me live, because you asked it of him."

"It wasn't a question of keeping you alive. It was a matter of the work that needs to be done. He values coal above anything else, even his own flesh and blood."

"Dax and Eloy," Robin swallowed. The man's own sons. It was easy to recall Dax's bitterness whenever it involved his father. He doubted that feeling was one-sided, and it seemed to be proven by Nathaniel's words.

"He would send them to work the mines too if he felt it would do any good. But position has its perks, and Alfred would have a riot on his hands if he began to send certain men down to do the work of slaves. You, on the other hand, have no value in the man's eyes. Alfred figures you'll most likely die in the mines, so it is no loss for him."

"And if I don't die?"

Nathaniel was quiet for a moment, his concentration seemingly focused on cleaning the last of the welts. Finally he answered, at the same time he pulled back. "He'll see to it that you do."

So he was a condemned man either way. Robin shrugged the shirt back on, the all too familiar nauseated feeling beginning to return. He met Nathaniel's gaze, watching as the man sat back down against the wall.

"This doesn't have to happen. What if I told you that I might be able to stop this?"

"You aren't the first one to promise that."

It was still possible. Robin knew there might still be a chance. Between him, and Much, and the other miners, whoever they had on their side, they could still see this done. But he needed more help. He needed to know there was someone he could rely on, someone that could go in and out of the mines without a second glance.

"I have a plan, it's risky, but it might work-"

"I cannot risk anything," Nathaniel warned.

"What do you have to lose?" Robin pressed him, leaning forward.

"Rhodri."

The answer was simple, short. The man held his gaze, his own expression cold and hard.

"He will be the one punished if things go ill, which they most likely will. I will not risk losing him."

"If this works, you and Rhodri will be able to live free. No more mines, no more of this trading people. Don't you want a better life for your son?"

"Don't you think I've thought of that, many times over?" Nathaniel wondered, sitting up. "That I've dreamt of what it would be like, if I had done things differently? I made choices in my life, Robin, bad ones. I'm done making those. It's easier to keep your head down, and to do as you're told."

Robin took a breath. He had to convince him, somehow he just had to. "Sometimes you have to take a chance-"

"I took a lot of those, when I was younger," Nathaniel was quick in cutting him off. "When it was just my wife and I. They were happier times. I made a small fortune through my physician skills, made the rest up in trade. We were never rich like the lords or ladies, but we made do. It was enough to manage…until taxes were raised due to the war."

Robin knew that all too well. Nottinghamshire was not the only place to have suffered from the extortion of taxes. Prince John saw fit to take whatever he could, and even more. If only the king knew about it, then things would have been different. Far less people would have suffered.

"The debts you incurred?"

"I gambled," the man explained calmly. "I took some risks, and was able to put off trouble for a time. But I knew it wouldn't last. Many of our fellow villagers had already lost their homes. Those who still had theirs could not afford to trade, and unable to sell any of my wares, I could not pay the taxes. I set off to speak with the sheriff, but I was told he was too busy to speak with me, and was referred to the captain of his guards instead. The man promised he would pay my dues, if I paid him back the sum and more when the new season came. Like the fool I was, I agreed. That was the first of my bad choices."

"You weren't able to pay it back," Robin finished for him. Another, familiar story. In tough times there was often desperation, and the wisest of choices were never made. He felt for the man, the same way he felt for the people back home, in Locksley, and the rest of Nottinghamshire. And those who could afford to help, often did not do so willingly, as was proven here.

"We lost everything…_I_ lost everything," Nathaniel corrected himself. "Our house was one thing, but to see my wife taken away-" he shook his head with a sigh. "I was determined to pay things off in full, as soon as possible. I sold whatever I could, tended to anyone despite the cost. Most of the nights I went without eating, and I slept wherever I was allowed. I would bring what I had every fortnight, to the castle where I would pay off what I owed. And even then, I wasn't even allowed to see her."

The man's voice was forlorn, and he trailed off, as if lost in a memory. Judging by his face, Robin could see that it wasn't a particularly fond one. And why should it be? He had seen it happen before, and his mind was reeling, pushing aside his hurts for the moment as he tried to concentrate. It was oddly familiar, what he was hearing, but he couldn't remember where he had heard it. Frustration set in, as did the pain and he bit his lip as the slightest of groans threatened to escape. The little he had done already had left him feeling exhausted, and he hadn't even achieved anything he wanted. Worse yet, the nauseousness was starting to return. He finished the water that was left in the flask, hoping it would quell it some.

"Enough for one night; we both need our rest."

Nathaniel had moved to his feet, crossing the gap between them. As before, the shackles were clasped back around his wrists, the man pausing only to study the fingers as he had not done so before. He seemed satisfied, but said nothing on the matter, letting go of him instead. The chains rattled, clinking against each other as Robin moved to lay back down, the ground cold beneath him even under his clothes. He was left alone again, the recent words still playing on his mind, a memory he could not quite place. Robin closed his eyes, forcing his mind to quiet, and welcoming the sleep that was starting to pull him in.

* * *

He had hoped he would hear something. Had waited up half the night before succumbing to sleep, just by chance that something would happen. Twice Much had gone to the caves to wait a bit. He only came back the last time when Eleri came looking for him. Now that morning was here, he wasn't quite certain he wanted to get up. But he followed the others, just as he always did, dressed in the heavy layers, fingers clutching a simple tool as he moved to his knees in order to work.

Much had lost track of the days that had gone by. He hadn't exactly been counting in the first place, but now as he tried to think on it, he couldn't remember how long it had been since he had last spoken with the man. They hadn't parted on the best of terms, and more and more Much longed to apologize, to ask for forgiveness. He hadn't believed what he had said; surely Robin would not believe it either. But what if he had?

The edge of the pick struck the earth, embedding itself so that it was stuck fast. Much took a couple of tries before he worked it free, striking it again in the same spot before the large chunk of earth fell away. Numbly he picked it up between his fingers, sorting dirt and rock free from the bit of coal, tossing it to one side in the bucket. Robin had said he would find a way to get a message to him. To let him know of the plan. To let him know how they would escape. How could Much do any good, if Robin did not speak with him?

The man reasoned that maybe Robin was trying. Robin, after all, spent a great deal of his time thinking, and keeping quiet, not announcing any of his plans until the last moment. And even then the plans weren't exactly great in detail. Maybe his master was simply taking his time, until a solid plan was in place. But if that were so, why did he not simply say so?

Yet there was another worry that pressed at him, that made the former idea seem unlikely. It wasn't just that he hadn't heard from him. Much hadn't seen him either. Once or twice, in the past weeks, he would see Robin pass by in the mines. It wasn't often, and not a word was said between them, but still Much had known it was him. That had been some time ago; it had not happened in recent times. Of course there still was the cave-in. Perhaps his time was consumed by that. Yet according to the other slaves, the cave-in had all been cleared. Workers were now venturing back to those parts, helping to shore up the walls, to prevent another episode. Much found himself watching these walls closely. He wasn't too keen on the idea of having a cave-in happen here.

It seemed as though the more ideas he came up with, the less proof he had. All were thwarted in one way or another, leaving him grasping for more and more outlandish ideas as to what could possibly be the reason. Then he wondered if perhaps he already knew, and just didn't want to believe. What if Robin had left him?

It wouldn't be the first time the man had simply left when things did not go his way. When Marian was to marry Gisborne, Robin had turned his back even on the king. Of course it had not really been the King of England, but they hadn't known that at first. Then of course back in the woods, in the past year, perhaps a little longer, Robin had sent Will and Allan, even Little John on their way. Had cast them out, banished them…well, not really banished, he mused. But it was almost the same.

He knew it was easy for Robin to do so again. Unlike him, Robin could leave the mines whenever he wanted. He could simply leave the village altogether. Much didn't like this thought, didn't like the prospect of being down here for the rest of his life. And what would Eleri say? If she found out that Robin had left him, it would only prove her point all the more. What if she was right? What if she had been right all this time and he had been the fool to trust Robin in the first place?

He shook his head, trying to clear the awful thoughts from his mind. Robin wouldn't just leave him. Would he? They had argued when they had last seen one another. Much had said some mean things, but hadn't he said mean things before? Just as Robin had said the same to him? It had never been meant, and even Robin had said that they both said things they did not mean. But what if he had forgotten that? What if Robin had simply grown angry, had gotten tired of Much's arguments, and decided it would be better to return to Nottingham himself?

Much drove the pick harder into the earth, the shock of the impact driving down his arms. He wouldn't let himself think that. Robin would come back. He had to come back. Didn't he?

* * *

He had done this many of times before. Still his heart pounded in his chest, his throat closing and threatening to choke him as he passed through the gate, his shoes slapping against the stone ground. The metal of the chainmail swayed lightly against his skin, too loose to belong to him, but enough of a cover to fool anyone who took a mere glance. Will held his breath, keeping in step with the guards in front of him. So far, no one had noticed him.

It had been easy to take the guard down. It had been harder to drive the knife home, taking the man's life. Normally he followed Robin's policy of not killing unless necessary. But this, this was more than necessary. He couldn't risk the man coming to, and spreading word about being knocked out, his armor having gone missing. The sheriff would learn quickly that an outlaw was back in town. Will had thought of other alternatives; tying the man up would only leave him to be found by another, or worse, not found at all. He would not subject any man to such a fate, even if they did deserve it. It was a mercy to have killed him quickly, to do away with the body. Will's only regret was that he did not know if the guard had a family, and if he did, if they would be cared for.

He cleared his mind, focusing on what was happening before him. The market of Nottingham was busy, people pushing through crowds to get on with their work, or to buy a trinket or two. His eyes searched the stockades, bitterly finding them empty. What had happened to the others? Just beyond the bend he could see the gallows, could feel his heart clench a little at the body he saw swinging freely. It wasn't one of them; Will did not recognize the face, uncovered and left for all to see. Quickly he picked up his pace, realizing that he had fallen behind.

After donning the guard's outfit, he had made his way through the forest, headed back towards Nottingham. He would get in as a guard, but he wasn't certain as to what he would say, knowing that the town was being watched. Will had been spared from having to think for too long, another guard crossing his path, barking at him angrily, wanting to know if anything had been found.

He had roughened his voice, had shrugged his shoulders and replied in the negative. Then he had followed who he assumed to be the captain, all the way back to here. The castle was just before them, the courtyard nearly empty. Ahead of him he could hear two of the other guards conversing, muttered words flitting between their lips.

"…going to explain?"

"Can't blame us, not like he actually expects to find something, bloody outlaw could be anywhere."

"Could have us hang, like that one back there," one of them thrust a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the body that had been in the gallows. Will felt the smallest twinge of guilt. He knew the sheriff would not be happy the men had come back empty-handed, and part of him felt for the guards, knowing they would pay for his escape. But he wasn't willing to give up his life to spare them. It would mean sacrificing himself, and the others. Will kept his gaze ahead, forcing his body to keep up in stride as they ascended the stairs.

"Not just the sheriff you have to worry about," another guard replied, having heard the conversation. "Chaffee sounds worse; I hear talk that he's the reason for the sheriff's moods. Hate to think what would happen if you upset him."

Will recognized the name. He had heard enough talk, had seen the man before, but had never really gotten to know him. The new Master-at-Arms. Gisborne's replacement. Better or worse…it was too early to say. But if what was just said was true, if Chaffee was truly the one calling the shots, and not the sheriff, then Will needed to know. He needed to know more about this man. Not only to help him plan the other's escape, for surely there was a trap about somewhere. But also for the information they could use after. If he got the others out, it was folly to believe this Master-at-Arms would simply go away.

Will let his pace slow, the guards ahead of him soon disappearing around a corner. Wasting no time, he turned, and went to his left, keeping to the shadows of the corridor. His steps echoed in the empty air around him, resounding hollowly as he made his way, his mind searching to remember the way. He could go to the sheriff's quarters. Perhaps there was something there about the man. Unlikely, though possible.

What was more plausible was Gisborne's old room. Will could remember how it had been de Fourtnoy's residence at the castle before Gisborne had become Master-at-Arms. If Gisborne had taken over the room upon the man's death, then it was easy to assume Chaffee had done the same when Gisborne was arrested. He would soon find out.

The room was down this way, at the end of the hall. Will slowed his steps, eyes searching the area, before pressing an ear against the door. He had to pull his helmet off, leaving him feeling horribly vulnerable, fear swelling up in him at the thought of someone rounding the corner, and seeing him. Somehow, through the pounding of his heart, he came to the decision that the room was silent.

The door opened slowly, poking his head through to confirm what he had already decided. Will stepped inside, and shut the door behind him, his breath leaving his body as he saw the room. It looked like nothing he had seen before. Elaborate decorations, crests and banners adorning the wall, plush rugs made of fine furs covering the floor. He was almost afraid to tread upon them with his boots, knowing the amount of mud and grime that covered them. No doubt they would leave traces.

He kept to the edge of the wall, skirting around the fine material, setting the helmet down on a table. A few candles burned, the wax dribbling over the edges, indicating that no one had been there to tend them for some time. Perhaps the owner had been distracted, and was not coming back. Will didn't want chance it, and brought his focus back to what needed to be done.

On the desk, at the far side near the window sat a stack of papers. Parchment that was rolled and bundled, some laying spread open, with shaped and engraved metals and stones holding them in place. Even the quill that rested on top of the pile was made of fine feathers, a lacing of gold decorating the stem. It was easy to see that Chaffee was a man of fine expenses.

He pushed it to one side, his eyes scrolling over the parchment. Reading was not one of his finer points. He had managed to pick up a few words, and he could name the letters, even write his name. When he was little, his mother used to read to him and his brother. It was one book, the only one she had, and his father had told him once that she had it all memorized, so that it wasn't truly reading. That was why she hadn't been able to teach them very well. Reading was not something a carpenter needed to know. An outlaw needed it even less, he presumed, but in times like this, it would certainly help.

Even without reading the words, he could recognize the seal. Will had seen it enough times, after raids and ambushes. Prince John's seal. The other, belonged to the sheriff. So was Chaffee sent by the prince? Or requested by the sheriff? Or a matter of both? Had the sheriff been plotting to replace Gisborne for a time, using Marian as bait to finally condemn him without guilt or reason? Or had Prince John grown weary of the outlaw's success, and sent Chaffee as a warning to Vaysey instead?

Will moved the paper aside, pulling free some older ones. He could see the letters, but he couldn't make out the words. It was difficult to even try and sound them out. It was like something he hadn't seen before, the mark of the seal clearly belonging to the prince. Most of these were from the prince, Will noted, flipping through them all. So he had been sent by Prince John. What did this mean for Vaysey? And more so, for the rest of Nottinghamshire?

Will glanced up hurriedly, breath catching as the door swung open. The parchment fell from his hands, the inkwell tipping to one side and staining the words below. There was bigger worries than ruined parchment, however, Will reaching to his side for the sword that was there.

The man seemed unimpressed by his movements, as the sharp slice of metal could be heard as the weapon was drawn free. He stood in one spot, arms hanging loosely by his side, simply watching as Will edged from around the table. Gisborne would have already had a weapon drawn, would have already called for guards. Chaffee, as Will presumed him to be, did nothing. Almost nothing, that was.

"Find anyzing interesting?"

The accent threw him off. Not English…but what? Will said nothing, only bringing the sword up higher, keeping his back against the wall. Chaffee stood between him and the door, the only feasible way out. He could survive a fall from this height, but he wasn't willing to press his luck. Will convinced himself that Chaffee would be an easy match; the man was unarmed, and seemed to lack the ability to fight, so frail he seemed to be.

"You must be ze outlaw," the man continued, as though being threatened was a normal everyday occurrence.

"And you are Chaffee, the new Master-at-Arms?"

He quoted it as a question. Will already knew it to be true, but he was hoping, almost with some foolishness, that he was somehow mistaken. The grin proved him otherwise, Chaffee holding his hands out to one side as though it was some great accomplishment.

"Now we are acquainted. Tell me, have you been here zis whole time? Guards searching ze entire town, and you have been hiding away in ze castle? Ze sheriff was right. You are elusive."

Will wasn't sure how to take the comment, but he brushed it aside. He edged a little further, moving closer to the door. Closer to Chaffee. If he could keep the man distracted, keep him from calling out for the guards, he might have a chance.

"So where did the sheriff find you? Why are you even here?"

"I am not one to be found," the man corrected him sternly, his accent making it difficult to take him seriously. "I employ myself on John's behalf when zings are not going well. I make zem well once more."

"Right," Will moved another step closer, scowling as he saw Chaffee match his step. The man was fully aware of his charade. He had to keep trying. "So you had us all. Why not kill us? Why keep us alive?"

"Politics," the answer was simple. The man must have sensed Will's confusion, for he continued after a moment had passed.

"If we kill everyone who has caused some sort of difficultly, zen zere would be no populace left. Without a populace, zings would never get done. Ze people need direction, zey need something to fear."

"And they fear us?"

"Zey fear becoming what you have become," Chaffee pointed out. "You heard ze announcement. Zey fear you even more, do zey not?"

Will hadn't chanced in meeting anyone. He was afraid to see what their reactions would have been. Back in Nettlestone, the year before, when Robin had been accused as a killer, the villagers had been angry, though partially afraid of them all, he had to admit. What Chaffee and the sheriff were doing now was spreading fear. People _did _fear what would happen if they were to end up arrested. Now they would fear the outlaws in general, and rightly so, knowing what the consequences were.

"So why punish them? Why not punish us?"

"Is it not punishment?" Chafee wondered. "Or do you all prefer ze dungeons after all?"

No, they did not. Will knew this to be a fact. They had longed for so long to be free; but now that he was, he felt more trapped than ever. Part of it was knowing the others were still detained, still in danger from a deranged mind, that liked to play games. Who knew what sort of influence this man was having over the sheriff, who made the final decisions in what happened to the prisoners. They could be being tortured even as they spoke here, tormented, starved…who knew what else. And not knowing made it all the worse. But Will was afraid to ask, afraid because Chaffee might lie, afraid ever more because Chaffee might tell the truth. The only way he would know, was to see for himself.

Will lunged, bringing the sword down for a strike. Why he had killed the guard earlier, and could not bring himself to do the same here, he wasn't sure. The flat of the blade came down, ready to render his victim unconscious, or at least cause him a great deal of pain. It never landed.

Instead the blow was blocked, Will realizing suddenly that the man had a weapon of his own. The clash of metal surprised him, the force unpredicted, almost causing him to lose his hold on his own sword. Quickly he backpedaled, the floor uneven beneath him from the furs. The sharp point of the blade slashed through the air, mere inches from his own face.

"You are soiling my rugs," Chaffee's voice was sharp, the man advancing on him slowly. Will was able to regain his footing in the break, wanting to point out that more of a mess would be made if the man was insistent on running him through here and now.

Will was able to block the next blow, surprised at the power behind it. Either Chafee was far more of a challenge than first anticipated, or Will had simply lost most of his strength in the time he had spent in the dungeons. Either way, he was having a difficult time in keeping up, in blocking the blows. Soon he found himself pressed against the wall, having no room left to back up. He dodged to one side, letting his guard down for only a brief second.

The cold steal pierced his skin, drawing a cry from him. Will struggled to hold onto his sword, knowing if he let go of it now, he was doomed. The fresh, clean slice immediately turned red, blood appearing on his arm where he had been cut. His fingers tightened around the weapon as Chaffee drew near, holding up to try and ward the man off. He couldn't win, not like this.

"I'd rather you not bleed on ze furnishings. Blood is quite difficult to remove."

"You've had experience with that?" Will breathed, edging closer to the window. It wasn't his first choice, but now he wondered just how well he could take that fall. It seemed to be the easier route than heading for the door.

"Just because I choose not to kill does not mean I cannot," Chaffee seemed pleased to explain. He moved, without warning, Will unaware for any attack.

The blade went lower this time, finding a gap between his armor. Deeper, sliding between flesh and bone, stealing away his very breath. The sword was removed in one kick slice, causing as much pain coming out as it had going in. He felt the ground beneath his knees, heard the clattering of the sword as it was dropped from his grasp, his hands seeking out the fresh wound instead. He could feel the warmth, the blood leaking out between his clenched fingers. He wasn't sure if he was dying, if the wound had been fatal, or if the final blow was even coming.

"I could kill you now," Chaffee informed him, the mockery clear in his voice. He kicked away the weapon Will had been using, moving closer now that he was certain it was safe. "But as I said, blood stains somezing terrible."

Will let go of his side, grabbing onto the arm that suddenly had him by the shoulder. He was being pushed, back against the wall, no…not the wall, the window. The cool breeze could be felt lacing through the chainmail, the stone against his upper thighs. Will tried to push back, but already he could feel his balance wavering, could feel his strength fading. He was slipping, falling…Chaffee was pushing him out the window.

Desperately he reached out, holding onto flesh, onto rock and stone, trying to keep himself upright. But the grip that held him was stronger, pushing him further, and further back. Will dug his fingers into the ledge, trying to kick out, to fight his way back.

Something smashed into his fingers, grinding them into the stone below. Will let out a cry, his hand withdrawing quickly to evade the oncoming blows. The same happened to his other hand, and he reached back up, barely catching the ledge. But Chaffee brought down the hilt of the sword again, and once more the sharp, grinding pain repeated, and Will reached out, trying to find something to hold onto. But all he found was open air.

And dimly he realized he was falling.

**TBC**


	34. Ascertainment

**So sorry about the long time in between updates! I've been busy with another writing endeavor that has taken up much of my free time. With it mostly out of the way, I hope to be able to turn back to this and work on it some more. **

**Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta :D **

**Let me know if you are still reading!**

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**Chapter 34: Ascertainment**

He did not like the fact of being called here for a meeting. Not only was he the Sheriff of Nottingham, but it was in the middle of the night; he had been sleeping. Now he walked, staggered was more like it, through the open corridors, cursing bitterly as he rounded the stairs, entering the Great Hall.

Chafee sat at the grand banquet table, a cup in one hand, sorting through a plate of grapes with the other. Vaysey watched as the man plucked a few, popping them in his mouth, and bringing the cup to his lips. How one could eat at this hour was beyond Vaysey, who let out a scowl, bare feet hitting the cold stone floor.

"What was so important it could not wait?" he demanded, still irate by the simple fact that he was being dragged from his chambers at such a ludicrous hour. Someone better be dead or dying; someone he cared about, which was no one, once he gave a moment's thought to it. So there was no reason for him to be here, unless of course the king was returning; a highly unlikely possibility.

"Ze outlaw problem is solved," the man replied calmly, plucking another grape up between his fingers. He gave it a small squeeze, tossing it inside his mouth.

"The escaped one? He was found?" Oh, this was good news. Already Vaysey had plans, he would make the man pay. The earlier doubts concerning Robin Hood had been cast out. No matter if there was a chance that Hood might still be alive, Vaysey would hold no qualms in making the little forest rat squeal in the dungeons.

"This is good, this is very good," he continued, his frown slowly turning into a grin. "Where did the guards find him? Who helped him?"

"I found him," Chaffee snapped. The grin quickly turned into a frown.

"What?"

"He was here ze whole time," another grape was carefully selected, and chewed upon. Like a true gentleman, Chaffee waited until all was swallowed before continuing. Vaysey found it disgusting.

"I found him in my room, of all places."

"Where is he now?" Vaysey demanded, tired of the charade. Of course Chaffee would boast about this accomplishment. It would please Prince John, and make Vaysey look worse all at the same time. It secured Chaffee's position while it lessened his. But he would show Chaffee up, make him look the fool. Chaffee might have caught the outlaw, but it was he, the Sheriff of Nottingham, who would find Hood's secret camp.

"He's dead."

"Dead?" Vaysey repeated the word, his angry shout sounding through the hall. Chaffee did not seem put off in the least, finishing instead what was in his cup before responding. "Do you have proof?"

"My men have assured me zat zey have taken care of ze body. Oh, and I will require a new rug for ze room. I cannot stand blemishes; shall I acquire ze funds from you now, or on a later date?"

"Me? Funds? Whatever for?"

He was angry still, angry about the outlaw. How was he to get answers as to where the camp was now, with the outlaw dead? There were still the others, he mused, but his options were running out. The women were useless…Marian would have no idea, and the Saracen frightened him. Dark magic; she had used it before. No doubt if they opened the cell even an inch she would conjure something to try and escape.

And the big man, he was a brute, he was strong. It would be easy for him to take several guards out with one blow. All they needed was a giant on the loose; they would all be free at that rate. But what about the other?

"It was your incompetence zat allowed him to escape in ze first place," Chaffee broke into his thoughts, dangling the reminder painfully. "I had to take action on my own, to stop all of zis. Zerefor, ze damage to my furnishings is your responsibility. Of course, I could simply request ze fee from John, but it would have to entail ze tellings of ze escape, and your failure to find him."

So Chaffee had not yet informed the prince of what had happened. Vaysey considered this a good thing, despite the fact he was curious as to why the man had not. Chaffee seemed to enjoy making him appear incapable of anything, watching him like a hawk does prey. After all, he had been rather efficient in informing Jasper of his doings shortly after the man had arrived. So why not here?

"I will send my men to take care of ze details," Chaffee continued when Vaysey failed to respond. "In ze meantime, now zat we have zings back under control, ze prisoners can go back in ze stocks, no?"

"Why would we ever do that?" Vaysey wondered, irritated still. He said nothing on the matter of the payment having been requested. He wasn't certain how the prince would take the news of the outlaw's escape, but he hardly wanted to find out on his own. What concerned him more was the fact Chaffee wanted to continue the trivial game he had started long ago. Of course, Jasper had enjoyed that idea, had praised Chaffee endlessly, and no doubt had gone back and informed the prince. So it was in the man's best interest to continue what was working for him. But Vaysey was inclined to remind him that was how the outlaw was able to escape in the first place.

"We should hang them while we have the chance. Make them talk, then hang them."

"Still trying to find ze camp?" Chaffee chuckled. "So far your solutions are working out well," the man mocked. "No, we do not change tactics. Else ze people feel zat zey control what happens. We must show zem zat no matter what zey do, we are ze ones in charge. Now, I grow weary after ze day's events. I will retire, and in ze morning, I expect to find zem in ze stocks when I look out my window. Good night, sheriff."

* * *

He was aware of the voices first. Muddled and hard to make out. There was some light, but faded, dim and soft. He felt himself swallow, straining to hear what was being said, trying to remember what had happened. Why couldn't he remember?

"An outlaw? Here?" a woman was saying, scoffing. "Rubbish."

"None-the-less, we must search the premises, orders, you know."

The man, whoever it was that had spoken, didn't seem so certain of himself. But Will was having a hard time concentrating. He felt strange, almost as though this was nothing more than a dream. And still, he could not remember what had happened, or why he was even here…wherever here was.

"Fine, search away, waste your time looking for something that isn't here," the woman came again, her voice full of spite. He could hear the shuffle of footsteps, doors and cupboards being opened, closed shortly after. He could hear them getting near, and something told him he should be quiet. For a time he even held his breath, eyes closed, willing himself to remain still. He could hear them breathe, could hear them muttering under their breaths…there were two of them, had to be at least two.

"We should move on, she gives me the creeps."

"You don't believe all those witch stories, do you?"

"Well…no, but I don't like how she's watching us."

"You should be helping me look, not paying attention to what she is doing."

"We wouldn't even be looking if we had just done what we were supposed to do the night before."

"Well, I didn't expect a dead body to move, I figured we had more than enough time."

"We should ask, maybe one of the others took care of it."

"And say what? Tell Jacques that we didn't do as he asked? You want to end up in the stocks like the outlaws? No? Then I suggest you get back to helping me look."

The voices were close, but muffled, as if spoken behind a curtain, or just beyond where he was in another room. Will tried to sort out what it meant, confused as to what they were speaking about. He was half-tempted to ask, but soon he heard them pulling away, more things being turned over, the woman speaking once more.

"What do you think you're doing? You're making a mess of this place."

"We must see to it that the place is searched thoroughly," one of the other voices countered. "We are only doing our job."

"Can't you do your job somewhere else? I have work to do, and I told you already you're wasting your time."

It was beginning to make his head hurt. He wished that they would just stop, or do whatever it was they had to do and be done with it. Why did they have to argue? Will let out a groan, head turning away from all the noise.

"You hear that?"

There was a pause of silence, before the woman was speaking again.

"Hearing things now? When was the last time you got some shut-eye? Work you so hard, do they, the brutes. Never-the-mind, I have something to help you with that…ah, yes, here it is. Just drink this here, you'll feel better in no time."

"I don't think-"

"It'll keep up your strength, if you're going to catch that outlaw. We don't want the likes of him running around here, now do we? Go on then, get a move on; I have a mess to clean up, no thanks to you two."

Will listened to the protests, and finally, the closing of the door. There was silence again, something he quite enjoyed, the pounding in his head subsiding as he felt himself drifting back off to sleep. Then the voice came again, strained and muffled, as before.

"Thought they'd never leave; too close for my taste."

A moment later, Will found himself wincing at the invasion of light. Then a pair of hands were grabbing his shoulders, moving him.

"Misjudged that dosage, should have given you more. You almost gave both of us a good deal of trouble."

Will was about as awake as he had been before, woozy and disorientated as the hands pulled him up. His feet felt heavy, and he was struggling to put any weight on them.

"Come on, you can walk. You did it earlier. It's not far to go, that's it, one foot in front of the other."

Somehow he managed, grimacing as he was laid back, but relishing the softness that caught him below. His head was hurting still, spinning, but he somehow managed to form words, to ask the question that was on his mind.

"Who are you?"

"I'm surprised you don't remember me, Will Scarlett," the woman chided him, "I've taken care of you many times, and your brother. Not to mention your parents."

Will studied her face, listening to her voice. She did seem familiar, and with slow, dawning realization, he remembered.

"Matilda?" But that would mean… "am I back in Locksley?"

"Oh no, we didn't go that far. We're still in Nottingham. Can't you remember?"

Will shook his head, swallowing as he let his head fall against the pillows. He remembered the fight with Chaffee, remembered falling…the rest were vague, jumbled memories that made no sense.

"Ah, likely that is, I suppose. You were out of it when I found you, and that remedy didn't help none. But not like I had a choice, what with the guards all out searching houses, trying to find you. I wasn't about to let them take you back, not after all the trouble I went through getting you here."

She was pulling back his shirt all the while, something he hardly noticed or even cared about. But he winced at the sudden pressure, letting out a small cry as the cloth was pressed against his side. Matilda hardly slowed her administrations, dabbing the rag against the wound, and back into a bowl of water that was near the bed.

"You bleed like a stuck pig," the woman scoffed, holding the cloth in place to try and staunch the bleeding that had once again started. It wasn't a wonder he felt woozy; or perhaps that was more from the concoction Matilda had given him.

"I _was_ stabbed," he informed her through gritted teeth.

"As if the hole in your side wasn't enough to prove that already? Consider yourself lucky that it didn't cut anything important. Then we would have a real problem on our hands."

"What are you doing here?"

The question was on his mind. He was grateful that she was. Will didn't want to think what would await him had the guards found him. Killed him, most likely, and that would have been a mercy. The thought of being brought back to face the sheriff, or Chaffee, made him ill.

It was by luck that he ended up here, with someone he trusted. But Locksley was a far cry from Nottingham, Matilda's original place of residence. At least, when he had last looked, it had been where she was. People moved, all the time, but more commonly from the larger town to smaller villages, not the other way around.

"My Rosa, she's come down with a touch of something. Her husband's gone away recently, fighting in them wars. I was worried for her, didn't want to leave her alone here, especially with that new character in town. Bad enough in the villages, I suppose it's even worse here. But you would know about that already, wouldn't you?"

He hardly did. Being locked away in the dungeons, or confined in the stockades was only just the beginning. He had heard stories of worse fates, but from his vantage could not tell if it was truth, or merely exaggerated happenings. Yet, after what had taken place, Will was certain it was the former.

He let out another groan as she started to apply something, pressing more cloth against his wound. Will could hardly believe he had managed to survive that, and the fall combined. Not with the pain he was in, and even then he knew he most likely wasn't feeling it all. Something was pressed to his lips, and instinctively he began to drink, all the more so with the encouragement from above.

"That's it, there you go. Drink up. We'll have you feeling better in no time."

Will coughed a few times as he finished the liquid, grimacing at the taste. Why was it that the things that helped you feel better were the worst in flavor? He laid his head back, catching his breath, slowly feeling the pain ebb away.

"Thank you," he managed to whisper as he heard her move about. "I owe you my life."

"We all owe you more," Matilda answered. "You, Robin, the others. You've all done us good for some time now. It's about time we did something in return, don't you think?"

"I don't think we can do anything more," Will told her gloomily. "Robin's gone, he's not coming back. I don't even know what's happening to the others…"

"Hush yourself," Matilda scolded him. "You're in a bad position, that's all. You'll do better to get some rest; unless you want to speak nonsense, that is. I can make you delirious, then at least it will seem all the more reasonable."

Will wasn't sure what to make of what she said. His head still hurt, and it was getting harder to focus, the realization he was exhausted slowly creeping in. He wasn't afraid to sleep; Will could not ask to be in better hands. But he didn't know what tomorrow would bring. He was afraid to wake, to find the sheriff had done away with the others while he slumbered. And if something did happen, Will was certain he could not forgive himself, no matter what his current position was.

* * *

He was worse the next morning. Robin had hoped he would see an improvement. Instead he woke to aches, and chills, the common signs of fever. Food had been left for him, but it turned his stomach sour to just see it there. He took the water instead, hoping to rid himself of the bitter taste that was lingering in his mouth. Then he turned to go back to sleep, hoping his next time waking would be better.

There was no such luck. Despite how he felt, rest was far in coming.

After a time he sat himself up, trying a new approach. Perhaps if he was to move around, the feeling would go away. The rest of his body was sore from the stone he had been on for the past days, and the wounds he had received, though healing, still burned and ached, making things all the worse.

Robin tried to push everything away. Tried instead to focus on what he knew, and on what still had to happen. If he did not pull through this, all would be lost. If he did recover, and was sent to the mines, he still had no notion of what he might do. It would be a relief to see Much again, but Robin knew he would be closely watched. If he so much as spared a word toward the man, there was good chance he would be made to pay. And Much was not the only one who would be in danger.

Eleri had offered to help. Much, he prayed, would be smart enough to keep his head down, to not give away that he knew who Robin truly was. About Eleri he had no idea. A single mistake would give them all away. And if Eleri were caught, it would turn bad for more than just her. And for more than one reason.

It was easy to see that Much was enamored with her. Why should he not be? Eleri was beautiful, despite her hardship, and had been there with Much through everything he had gone through. It was only natural for something to grow, whether it truly was love, or just infatuation, Robin wasn't in any position to say. That was the least of his problems.

The thought had occurred to him sometime over the night. Robin attributed that to be part of the reason why he had slept so poorly. When it first crossed his mind, he cast it aside, assuring himself he was delusional. He was only trying to see something that he was sure that was there, instead of what truly was there. But once it started, he could not easily forget it. More than once he had thought of it, had rationalized over it, and still now, after all this time, Robin was no more sure than he had been before.

The story that Nathaniel had told him the night before had sounded familiar to some degree. Robin had assumed it was because every story was similar. It wasn't until now he was beginning to realize that it sounded familiar because he _had _heard it before. He was almost certain where, and if his notions proved correct, there would be a rather complicated matter on his hands. And there was only one way of finding out.

He was surprised to hear the door open. By now it was only mid-day, far too early for Nathaniel to be done with his work. Robin turned, worried that something had gone wrong, and as he did, he felt utterly sick. His heart almost froze as his breath caught in his throat, and somehow the pounding in his head only got worse. Latimer had come.

The man closed the door behind him, only heightening Robin's worry. He hadn't the slightest clue to why the man had come, but Robin doubted it was to wish him well. To make matters worse, he was trapped here in the room, locked in chains that hardly allowed him to move even if he had had the strength to do so. Nathaniel's earlier suspicion entered his mind, Robin wondering if Alfred had sent the man to kill him, figuring out he was too much of a risk to keep around.

"So tell me," Latimer began as he walked up around him. "How are we enjoying the accommodations?"

Robin said nothing, felt as though he couldn't say anything, his chest so tight that it was difficult to even breathe. He was in a bad position, whatever the man might have planned, and Robin had a feeling that any retaliation on his part would only make things worse, even if he was merely defending himself.

"Not so arrogant now, are we?" Latimer had taken a stance up in front of him. It felt too close for comfort on Robin's part, and it took a far amount of will power to keep himself from backing out of reach. The man would only feed off the fear; it would only serve to amuse him. And try as he might to convince himself otherwise, Robin knew he was afraid.

The man knelt so that he was eye-level with him, but Robin avoided his gaze, turning instead to one side. His heart was starting to pound in his chest, and he could swear that it was loud enough for Latimer to hear. It was all Robin could do to keep his composure, to keep from doing something completely irrational, and something he would come to regret.

"What do you want?" Robin finally questioned, his voice much weaker than he had wanted it to be. Latimer had not moved, was only seemingly content in watching him. To his question, the man laughed.

"I was curious to see how you were fairing," the reply came, the tone mocking actual concern. "To see if there was…anything I could get for you."

"Your concern is touching, but you've done enough already," Robin snapped, still avoiding his gaze. "Leave."

It amused him. "You are in no position to make demands," Latimer reminded him with a laugh. Robin did not respond, hoping the man would grow bored and simply leave. He had no such luck. Robin moved back quickly as the man reached out for him, driven more by instinct than by thought. He cursed himself quietly, knowing that he was being played with, and hating himself for falling into the trap.

"Look at you," Latimer mused out loud. "Seems like Nathaniel did a good job," his hands reached out to grab him. Robin pulled back once more, but was stopped as the man stepped on the chains, pinning him where he was. The next moment Latimer had a hold of his hand, closing around the broken fingers. Robin grabbed onto the man's forearm tightly, meeting his gaze for the first time.

"Let me go," he breathed, his voice barely there. His chest was tight, his heart still pounding. There was pain in his hand, as Latimer applied the slightest of pressures. Robin was trying to stay still, to not move so he would further injure himself. But Latimer could do that easy to him, given their position. He had to change that position, had to the take the upper hand. But how?

Robin knew he could do himself a great bit of harm just by moving wrong. But he felt certain Latimer would do so, if he did nothing. What was worse was knowing what might follow after. Robin would be in no position to protect or even defend himself. And he felt that no matter what anyone else said in his defense, it wouldn't be enough. Perhaps this was why Latimer had come in the first place; simply to provoke him. To get him to fight, so he could have liable reason to kill him. Yet why would he go through all that trouble? Surely Latimer could feed Alfred a story the man would believe.

It didn't matter. Robin would not sit by, would not let this happen again. Latimer had pained him enough, had done enough damage already. He would not allow himself to be further humiliated. He was about to move, about to strike out, catch the man off-guard, when there was a sound behind him.

Latimer heard it as well, glancing up as the door opened. Robin felt his throat tighten, his breath catch in his throat at the sound of the footsteps. Who had come? Was he in even worse trouble now?

"You're back early," Latimer's voice was cold, irritated. He still had a hold of Robin's hand with a firm grip. The next moment he let go, much to Robin's surprise. Quickly he tucked his hands into his lap, still afraid to turn around, or even acknowledge who was behind him.

"I was told I was needed. Why are you here?"

Robin felt himself breathe, if only a little. Nathaniel sounded angry, but his choice of words were carefully considered.

"I came to check how our prisoner was doing. Alfred's wanting an update."

"You could have come to me," Nathaniel stepped into Robin's view. However, Robin did not try and lift his gaze to meet Nathaniel's. He was so grateful the man was here, he felt as though on the verge of tears. But he couldn't give any reason for Latimer to think there was something between them. Couldn't let him know they trusted one another. For right now, he was simply a prisoner, and Nathaniel was simply a guard checking on his captive.

"I wanted a first-hand account. He seems a little under the weather. Would you agree?"

"My concern," Nathaniel responded. "If Alfred wishes to know what is going on, then I will tell him myself. But I will not find you in here again, do you understand?"

Robin was surprised to hear the words, wondering if Nathaniel knew what he was actually saying. He risked a glance at the man, but he had his gaze fixed on Latimer ahead. Latimer himself had a smug expression, one eyebrow raised.

"You really feel that you have authority over me?"

"Alfred gave me leave over the prisoner," Nathaniel reminded him. "What would he say, I wonder, if I told him you were hindering his recovery?"

"You have no proof."

"Leave."

He expected for there to be some confrontation, expected for Latimer to argue some more. So it was to his surprise when the man simply walked out. Nathaniel watched him go, stayed where he was even after the door had closed, as though anticipating the other would suddenly return. When nothing happened, the man finally spoke.

"Are you okay?"

Robin let out a nod, his breath still slow in coming. He met Nathaniel's gaze as the man knelt down in front of him, grimacing as he held out his hand. They had hurt enough the first time they were broken. Robin did not want to dwell on the possibility of how they would hold up through a second time.

"You haven't eaten," Nathaniel seemed to remind him, once satisfied no harm had been done. Robin shook his head in response. He hadn't felt well enough before, and he felt even less so now. "How long have you been with fever?"

"I don't know," Robin admitted truthfully. How could he know? Rather than try and figure it out, he was more curious about something else. "How did you know he was here?"

"Someone asked when I had requested more help in tending to you," the man explained. "I knew something was going on. I'm sorry. I did not think he would be so bold as to come here."

"The fault is not yours." There was nothing that could be done, and little that could have been done to avoid it. Yet he was worried that the man would try again, given time. And that thought frightened him. "How much longer am I to be here?"

"Until you are better," Nathaniel answered. "Or at least well enough for the work."

"I am now. I am ready."

The man was smiling, though sadly, as he shook his head. "You are not. I will keep a better eye, I promise. This will not happen again. Give me a moment, and I'll fetch something that should help with your fever."

He didn't protest as the man stood and left, as must as he wanted to. Robin didn't want to seem weaker than he was, yet he was almost at a point where he no longer cared. The longer he stayed here, the worse he became. It felt as though he would never recover, as though he would be stuck in this room for the rest of his life. Which, at this rate, did not seem as though it would be very much longer.

Despite Nathaniel's words, his heart raced when he heard the door open again. A moment later, he relaxed, seeing it was indeed Nathaniel, and not Latimer coming back to finish what he had begun. The man carried with him a sack, one he set down carefully before digging through the contents. He pulled out a bowl, a flask, and poured the liquid inside. To this, he added yet something else, pulled from the chest, a small vial.

"Here," it was held out to him, and then placed on the ground when he would not take it. "It has little flavor, but it will help keep your strength up, and get rid of the fever."

Robin hardly paid it any heed, instead he let out a breath, meeting Nathaniel's gaze. He wasn't sure how to ask the question, but it had been burning on his mind for some time now, and he needed to know. "Your wife…you said she was taken away."

The question seemed to confuse Nathaniel, the sudden leap in conversation. Yet slowly he nodded in answer. "I did say so, did I not?"

"You also said you were not allowed to see her."

"I was not."

"Did they know she was with child? When they took her away?"

"She wasn't; not when they first took her away."

"Then how-"

"I was not allowed to see her. It went against the contract I had acquired with the captain of the guards," Nathaniel stressed, holding Robin's gaze.

Slowly, he nodded, believing he understood. "You found a way to see her…and you were caught."

"Yes," Nathaniel nodded. "I told you I made foolish choices. Had I kept to the contract, I would not be here. And my wife would still be alive."

"You can't blame yourself," Robin counseled him. "You have no way of knowing if they would have held to their agreement. And you wouldn't have Rhodri."

"I know," he nodded. "Is it so cruel that I sometimes do not know which would have been a greater blessing?"

Robin said nothing, thinking instead. What else was it that he had heard? "What happened after? After they found you two?"

Nathaniel didn't respond right away, instead reaching for the bowl. He held it out to Robin again, who took it with a sigh. It was clear what the man wanted, but what Robin wanted was information. He brought it to his lips, taking a slow sip. Nathaniel was right; there hardly was any taste.

"I was taken away, locked in the dungeons. I saw no one except for the jailer, for three days. When I was finally released, I was informed that the contract was voided, and that I was to go on my way. My wife was gone already, and the Captain of the Guards would not tell me where. Not until I took matters into my own hands."

"You struck another bargain?"

"I threatened to cut out the man's throat unless he told me."

This surprised Robin. The man did not seem like the violent type. But a bluff was not quite the same thing. "He told you?"

Nathaniel gave a single nod. "And then I cut out his throat."

This surprised Robin all the more. While he had killed himself, most of it had been at a distance. Always quick and easy, and when in close range he had aimed to kill the quickest way possible. To hear the man confess he had been so brutal about such a thing left him nauseous. Robin could see much the same in Nathaniel's face as well.

"Was that wise?" Robin wondered, unsure of what else to say. "He could have been lying."

"He could have," Nathaniel agreed, seeming to be pulled out of the trance he had fallen in. "I was young and stupid back then. I thought with my heart, instead of using my brains."

"But you must have learned something," Robin pressed, finishing the rest of the fluid.

"I learned to whom she was sold to. A man by the name of Bessel. He was a slave trader, he encompassed most of the western part of England. I packed what little I had, and set off to find him. He was well elusive, it took me time before I found him. And when I did, he could not remember to whom she had been sold."

"Another man you bargained with?"

"Money," Nathaniel explained quietly. "Out of all the men I could have killed, I should have him. The captain of the guards was a brute, but Bessel was far worse. He traded people for a living, was gluttonous from doing so. But I had no personal quarrel with him, and all I could think of was finding my wife."

"He remembered something, then, when you gave him the money?"

"He gave me a list of places he dealt with. I spent a couple of months traversing between them, hoping in vain that I would find her. All the men I spoke with had not seen her. Or so I was told. At Tiverton, I was pulled aside by one of the servants who overheard my discussion with the lord there. He remembered my wife being there. A little encouragement, and the lord did as well. That was when I learned she was dead. And that I had a son. A day later, I found myself here, bound to a new contract."

Robin could understand why he had come. He would have done the same, if given a similar situation. He also felt sick, more from what he had heard than the fever that was threatening to do him in. But he had to be certain, he could not go casting around suspicion, could not rely upon simple words and stories.

"What did she look like? Your wife? I mean, was she beautiful?"

Nathaniel laughed at that. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"I just...," Robin found himself shrugging, trying to come up with some excuse. "I need something else to think of, when I am here."

Nathaniel seemed as though he was going to say something, but instead he nodded. "Yes, I understand. She was…beautiful. Long brown locks, eyes that were blue."

"What was her name?"

He paused again, but still was smiling as he answered.

"Eleri. Her name was Eleri."

**TBC**


	35. Unexpected Help

**Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta :)**

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* * *

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**Chapter 35: Unexpected Help  
**

After he discovered his earlier thoughts to be true, Robin spent a time wondering how he should tell Nathaniel, if he should tell Nathaniel at all, and ultimately decided not to tell him. The man deserved to know, without a doubt. Robin too would want to know if their positions were reversed. It was clear to see how deeply Nathaniel had loved, must still love her, and would, if he only knew his wife was alive. That was the reason why Robin had decided to say nothing.

There was no telling what the man might do if he knew. If he even believed what Robin had discovered. Nathaniel had long ago come to accept that his wife was dead, and possibly would go on accepting it. Why should he believe what Robin had to say? He hardly even knew him, only felt a sort of pity seeing that Robin had spared his son. Would he blame Robin for building up false hopes, or simply think him delusional due to the latest fever?

And if he did believe…no doubt he would want to save her. Most likely he would do something rash, something that would get him killed; as well as Eleri, and Much. Bless Much, he would do anything to protect her, Robin was certain, knowing how close they had grown since his capture.

He could not risk that. Nor could he have Nathaniel suffer, coming to know she was alive all this time, only to lose her if all should not go well. Robin knew how painful it was to lose someone you loved. He could not allow the man to lose her twice. No…it was better for him to continue going on to believe that his wife was indeed dead. If…when, they set the miners free, and all went well, he would tell him. But not before then.

The story Nathaniel had told certainly filled in a few missing gaps. The story he had heard before had been similar, but with a different ending. It had come from Much. The man had told him nearly everything about Eleri, had rambled on during some of the times they had met down in the cave. It bothered Robin; he would have made the connection sooner had he truly listened to what Much had said. It only proved how much he heard the man, and how little he listened.

Much…that would be difficult. He would not be so willing to give up the woman he had fallen for. But if they were all to survive, then Eleri's place was with her husband, and the child she had thought to have lost so long ago. It would be wrong to do otherwise. Would Much see it in the same light, he wondered? Surely he had to, but Robin knew how love could make one think so irrationally. It would be a hard loss, but the man would come to understand why it was necessary.

Yet Robin wondered if he was thinking too far ahead. His fever had seemingly worsened, despite the remedy given to him by Nathaniel. The aches had intensified, a shiver running through his body even as he was sweating. It was difficult to breathe, not only from the pains from his still healing injuries, but now it felt as though his lungs could not draw in enough air no matter his struggles to do so. His head had begun to pound, and no matter how he situated himself, Robin could not ease the discomfort in his body, or allow himself to relax enough to even rest.

This was worse than the fever he had had back during the war. At least then it had taken him far from reality where he could not experience it. Now, each waking moment was painful in the least, and it felt as though the agony might never end. It helped to count, but he could only do so for so long before he lost himself, and was forced to begin once more. Time passed, but slowly, tricking him into thinking it had been days when in truth only hours had gone by.

When the door opened again, Robin did not even try and see who it was, instead more content in lying where he was, sprawled out on the floor. He heard the curse, the shuffling of feet, and cool hands pressed up against his neck, resting there. A moment later Nathaniel was shaking him, calling for him to wake.

"Come on, you need to get up."

Robin figured there was some point to what he was saying, but he lacked the strength to even try. Nathaniel was not so swayed, pulling him up by the shoulders so that he was sitting. The move was unwelcome, his vision wavering, his head protesting. Still he was able to support himself, and Nathaniel let out a sigh.

"Just stay with me, you'll be fine."

Robin could argue with that, was about to, but Nathaniel was hardly paying him any heed. Instead the man had stepped away, was pacing, towards the door, but stopped, and then came back. He was halfway back to Robin when he stopped again, turning to look back. He was nervous, edgy, wringing hands together. Robin's own senses heightened immediately, fearing that there was some sort of danger to be expected, and knowing there was hardly anything he could do to prevent it.

Nathaniel had turned around to him again, about to say something, reaching into a pocket. It never came out, for the man spun around again at the sound of the door. Robin followed his gaze, forgetting his pains for the briefest of moments, his breath still in his chest as he waited.

Slowly the door opened, and it was difficult for him to make out what he was seeing. A large form of some sort, wrapped in a dirty, white cloth. It was swaying back and forth in the air, but slowly, as if delayed. Robin then realized that it was not just floating in the air, but rather, was something being carried by someone. He watched, perplexed as the figured came into the room, Nathaniel hastily shutting the door behind it.

"You were already supposed to be here," Nathaniel told the other, even as they came further into the room.

Robin watched as the figure set the wrapped bundle on the ground, surprised to see who it was. The man straightened, a scowl on his face.

"I was delayed," Dax muttered, turning from him to look at Robin.

"Did anyone see you?"

"No," Dax answered, shaking his head as he frowned. "You said he would be well enough to travel."

"Travel?" Robin repeated the last word, confused by it. What was happening?

"He will be," Nathaniel informed him, ignoring Robin completely. It was as though he hadn't even spoken. "I haven't given him anything yet; I caught Latimer snooping around this morning."

"You said if you waited too long, it would be irreversible-"

"I know my own poisons," Nathaniel cut him off sharply. "He'll be fine once he takes the antidote. There's still time."

"Poison?" Robin frowned, the thought suddenly dawning on him. It was starting to make sense. "You poisoned me?"

"Sorry," Nathaniel's apology was weak, the man grimacing. "I promise it will make sense in time," he reached into his pocket once more, pulling out a vial. "The antidote."

"I sent word to Alfred already," Dax was speaking once more. "He will come after the meeting is over."

"How much time?"

"The merchant showed about an hour ago. I had difficulty finding someone as you described, through all the mess that was left. I would say we have thirty minutes, no more, if we want to leave undetected."

Robin sat, fully aware of the conversation that went on around him. Even so, he was having a difficult time in processing what was said. His gaze landed on the bundle on the floor, noting how oddly it was shaped, as though it was…

He swallowed. It wasn't just his imagination. "Who is that?"

Dax turned to see where he was looking. "One of the miners, from the cave-in. We were hoping it would be you."

"Me?"

"We're getting you out of here," Nathaniel explained quickly. "I don't have the time to explain how," he added, seeing Robin's reaction. "Just trust me."

"They'll want to see the body," Dax pointed out. "It won't work."

"It will," Nathaniel argued. "Latimer knows that he is not well. If I proclaim he died from contagion, everyone will give the body a wide berth. Even more so if I insist the body to be burnt to keep it from spreading. Hell, they will even avoid me, you know they've done so before."

Robin shook his head, coming to understand what they meant to do. They would fake his death, and somehow get him away. The chance at freedom was a welcome thought, but Robin was also afraid that leaving here, he would abandon the very people he had promised to help.

"I can't go."

Both of them turned to stare at him, forgetting the conversation they had just been carrying.

"Roy…" Nathaniel stopped, letting out a sigh as he corrected himself, "Robin. You can't stay. Alfred will kill you."

"I meant what I said, I will stop all of this," Robin responded, his voice shaking. Now that he knew his ailment came from something else than within, he was more sure of himself. With the antidote he would recover, well enough to gain access into the mines.

"If you want to help, then first you must live," Dax warned him. "You won't do any good if you are dead."

How he had heard those words before. Still he wanted to protest. He knew what they were saying was true. Alfred most likely would kill him, given time. But all Robin needed was time. Enough time to put a plan into action, and then Alfred would no longer be a threat.

"If I leave…"

"This is not the time," Nathaniel cut him off. He did not wait for a response, instead turning his attention to Dax. "Are you ready?"

"No better time than now; the others are in the mines, or with Alfred. Question is, is he?" he motioned over to where Robin sat.

Nathaniel held up the vial, uncorking it. Then without word, he moved to where Robin sat. Robin was not very receptive about the whole ordeal. He knew what they were doing, the risks they were taking. If Alfred was to find out, or even others, such as Latimer, Mercer, or Dax's own brother, Eloy, the consequences would be great.

Others had risked their lives for him before. Not just during the war, but back home, in Nottinghamshire. Little John had led his men, Roy, Forrest, among others, to free him from the dungeons, only having tried to bargain him as a prisoner earlier in the day. Will, Allan and Much had helped to free him as well, all taking a risk which could leave them dead. Robin had never asked it, but he had been grateful. This here, he reasoned, should be the same. Yet there was frustration, frustration due to the fact he had been deceived, and that he was being taken away from what was possibly his best chance at succeeding.

"Robin," Nathaniel cautioned him. "Please…you will not have another chance. Let us help you."

Numbly he nodded. Whatever happened, would happen, and he knew there was some reason and logic behind their thoughts. One had to save themselves if they were to help others, but Robin could still not dispel the thought he was abandoning his friends. He held the vial to his lips, with the aid of Nathaniel, tipping his head back. The liquid was thick, bitter tasting, almost making him gag. Somehow he managed to swallow, eyes closing as he forced his stomach not to revolt.

"How long will it take?" Dax wondered quietly.

Not long. Robin thought it rather than said it. He still felt horrid, still felt weak and feverish, but already the pain in his chest was leaving. His head was clearing, dying down to a dull throb rather than a fierce pounding. His vision wasn't wavering as bad…now it felt more like a fever, rather than one with a vengeance.

"It will take about day," Nathaniel explained, unlocking the chains that held Robin in place. "The antidote will give him strength for a short time. You should feel a little better now."

Robin nodded, rubbing his wrists to try and ease the stiffness from them. He was given a moment to rest, before being urged to his feet. It was difficult to stand, and Robin relied heavily on Nathaniel for balance, before being passed over to Dax.

The man shouldered his weight, Robin wincing at the pain in his back and his sides as the arm held him in place. The next moment, he was covered with a cloak, the ties fastened to keep it about his shoulders, and the hood pulled up to conceal his face. Then Nathaniel was bending over, grabbing the edge of the blanket that held the miner embraced.

"I will wait ten minutes, before going to Alfred," he explained, pulling the body to the center of the room. Robin watched, with short breaths, as the body was unwrapped, the chains being secured to the arms.

"We'll be gone by then," Dax reassured him.

"Good," Nathaniel nodded approvingly. "Because I would hate to try and explain why he's with you, rather than here, like he should be."

The smile that was given to them was short-lived, for it died down into a frown, his expression becoming more serious.

"I am sure we will meet again," Nathaniel told him. "But if we do not, you have my undying thanks for everything you've done, for both Rhodri and I."

"For what you have done for me as well," Robin nodded back to him. He felt guilty, knowing what he knew, debating now if he should tell. There might not be another chance, but the decision was made for him as Dax started to move.

They paused outside the door, Robin trying to keep his breaths quiet as Dax surveyed their surroundings. When several minutes had passed, and not a sound was to be heard, he began to move once more. It was all Robin could do to keep up with him.

Granted he felt better than what he had just a handful of minutes ago, but Robin knew he was still very weak. His concentration was focused on keeping his feet moving, and reminding his body to breathe. More than once he stumbled, but never did he fall, Dax supporting most to all of his weight, sometimes harshly, though all of it unintentional.

Each time they turned a corner, Dax paused, keeping close to the wall. They only moved when they could see it was clear, and then with a quick, hurried pace. There was nothing said between them, and Robin kept his head down in case they should come across someone. The hood provided some concealment, enough that Dax might be able to come up with some excuse should they run into someone. But it never happened.

The cool of the air hit them when they stepped outside. Robin wasn't sure where he was being taken, or if Dax meant to walk all the way. If he did, Robin wasn't certain he could keep this pace up. Already he felt worn, sick to his stomach, and his head was pounding again, angry at the exertion.

But they weren't going to walk. That much was confirmed when they entered the stables. Robin was surprised to see the boy there. Rhodri jumped as they came in, the horse he was holding jumping as well. Rhodri was quick in calming the animal as they neared, holding him steady as Dax reached out for the saddle.

"You have everything packed?" Dax wasted no time in formalities. Robin could see the boy nod, but Rhodri's attention was fixated on him rather than Dax.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out quickly, "This was my fault."

"No," Robin shook his head. "Never think that it was. Promise me?"

Rhodri was hesitant, but he nodded as Dax helped Robin up.

His body protested at the movement, but no more than it had protested at everything that had taken place so far. His fingers wrapped around the horses' mane, trying to keep himself upright as Dax mounted behind him.

"Get back before anyone notices you are gone."

It was the last that was said, something of a disappointment for Robin, for he had wanted a chance to explain, to make Rhodri understand he was not responsible for what had transpired. But time was limited, they could not afford, for anyone's sake, to linger behind. The horse was set straight into a run, heading for the forest that was before them. Robin did his best to hold on, but dimly realized he was not. Rather that Dax had a hold of him, a good thing considering he was feeling worse by the moment. It was a fight to even stay awake. A fight, he was quickly losing.

* * *

Will was up the next morning, and out of bed despite the protests of Matilda. He still hurt, and quite a bit, but he couldn't bring himself to rest, knowing what the others were going through. Or rather, not knowing. There was a brief argument with her. One he quickly lost. He liked to think it was because he was not in his best state, and that he was too much of a gentleman to say what was really on his mind. Not to mention there was the fact that Matilda was quite persuading when she wanted to be.

He let out a groan, sitting down at the crude table. Rosa had been there earlier, had already gone, and Will knew she hadn't quite approved of his being there, but she would not argue with her mother. Matilda was scowling as she set the bowl down in front of him, a type of stew, or so he thought, leaning in to investigate.

"So tell me what it is you were planning to do?" she wondered, taking a bowl for herself. She sat down across from him, taking a few mouthfuls before proceeding.

"Limp up to the castle gates and demand they release the prisoners?"

"I have to try something," he argued, taking a small bite of his own. It was salty, but warm, and it did have a little bit of flavor. More than what the dungeons had offered, but nothing like what Much would make back home.

"Then why don't you try thinking for a change?"

"I have to know; they need me."

"Then figure out something that will actually help them."

"They may even be dead," he voiced his concern. He had tried to not think about it, but it was a foolish illusion to do so. "There may be no point to it."

"Rubbish," Matilda scolded him. "Saw them this morning, I did. The girl and the big one, what did you say his name was? John?"

"Saw them where?" he perked up instantly at this. Not that seeing them could be a generally good thing, but Will doubted Matilda would bring it up if it were bad news.

"Where they've always been. Honestly, you think they would come up with something original after all this time. The stocks have lost their appeal. Though it is a lucky break for them. Far worse things they can do," she shook her head, finishing off the rest of the meal.

"That doesn't make any sense," Will was stunned, unbelieving it all. It was like nothing had happened, like his escape, his supposed death, was nothing out of the ordinary. But why would they be so intent of extracting information from him, and then not bother with the others?

"He made a speech," she pointed out, "Mr Fancy-Pants, this morning. Could not believe it. _Zis is zis and zat is zat,'" _she mocked the accent, shaking her head. "Went on to say something about law and justice. As if he knows anything at all. Ship him back off to France, I say. All talk, nothing more."

"I wouldn't say nothing," Will winced, pressing a hand to his side. He had a reminder of exactly what Chaffee could do.

"A minor detail," Matilda laughed, as though it wasn't anything big. "You stood up to him, and lived to talk about it."

"Barely," Will added. "And it will only be time before he tries again with one of my friends. I have to save them."

"Yes," she agreed. "If not for them, then for the rest of us. I can't tell you how bad we are off without you lot. And where is Robin?"

Will swallowed, turning away. How could he explain? After all, he could not be certain, but it had been a long time, and even Robin had stated he was not certain he would return. He realized then they just had come to accept the fact that he was not. "He's gone."

"I don't believe that," she shook her head. "Robin's been one to survive. And if he were, the sheriff would make sure we knew."

"They've already announced it."

"That doesn't prove anything," she scoffed. "We are talking about the man who displays peasants on the gallows. If Robin were dead, he'd throw a party, that's what he would do. The fact he has not, means he does not know. And if I know Robin like I do, then he's still around."

Will nodded to this, but he also knew there were other truths that neither the sheriff, nor Matilda, knew. The least being that Robin had left Nottinghamshire altogether. Maybe even England. He would not abandon Much. Yet he had abandoned the rest of them. Will tried to not think of it like this, but it was a difficult task indeed.

"So, do you have any plans at all?"

"No," Will shook his head. He did not. He hadn't found out anything of use when he had been in Chaffee's quarters. Nor had he any success before that in reaching the camp for supplies, and it was difficult enough to sneak about the town, let alone the castle. There wasn't any way he could think of to get to the dungeons, to free them. Not alone.

"They take them back down at night, don't they?"

Will nodded, not paying much attention. There were times they had been left outside at night. Sometimes they were there for a couple of days. But recently, they had been taking them back to the dungeons.

"How do you get down there? I know you've broken out others before. "

"Pose as guards, take the jailer out," he shrugged. "It's not so hard, not when there's a couple of you. But I'm by myself, and I can't swing a sword to save my life, or theirs, for that matter."

"What do you do when you can't pose as guards?"

Will bit his lip, trying to think of the alternatives they had gone through. "Well…we've gotten ourselves arrested before. We hide a pick on ourselves, break out from the inside. But that won't work, they know who I am."

And Will knew if he was to be arrested, he would go straight to the gallows, or worse, to be tortured elsewhere. There would be no chance for him in seeing the dungeons, or his friends.

"Who says it has to be you?"

He looked at her with a frown. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" she shrugged, a grin on her face. "They'll arrest anyone now-a-days. What difference is it if it's an old woman, or an outlaw? They'll suspect me even less."

"Yeah, they'll arrest anyone," Will agreed, "or take their hands, their eyes, their ears or tongues…anything that pleases them. I've heard the stories, and I've seen the people. They do it to children…they'll do the same to you."

"You leave that worry to me," Matilda told him, moving to the next question already. "Do you have one of those picks you were talking about?"

"I…I can make one," he stuttered, thrown off by the question. Then he shook his head. "No. If anyone is going down there, it will be me."

"Nonsense. You can't even walk."

"I can, too," he protested.

"No," Matilda shook her head. "You limp around like a poor crippled mongrel. Besides, you said yourself they would recognize you."

"What will you do?" he wondered. "What about your daughter? The both of you would have to leave…you can't do this."

It was here she paused, considering the truth of it all. Then she nodded slowly. "I suppose you are right. I don't mind risking myself, but I wouldn't do that to my Rosa."

Will nodded, grateful that it was over. It would work, he knew, if they could only get someone on the inside with a key. It was what he had been working on in the dungeons, a makeshift pick, to free them all. If they could get out, without attracting attention, they would have a chance. But he didn't know how that would work. How would he be able to get back down the dungeons, without anyone recognizing him?

"I can't get down there," Matilda said quietly, "and neither can you. But I know someone who can. You said you can make that key?"

Will nodded, looking at her curiously. "Yes, why? What are you thinking?"

"Don't bother yourself with the details," she shook her head, standing. "Get on that key, and give it to me when you are done. And I don't want to see you set foot outside, you hear me? Them guards, the rats, are prowling the streets, I tell you. If they catch you here, then Rosa and I will really have to leave. So see to it that they don't."

Will knew the latter part of that was true. He had no intention of being found, but every intention of leaving. Where to, he wasn't sure. But the fierce look Matilda was giving him now was enough to make him reconsider. Not to mention, she had a plan. He was desperate to know, but it was apparent that she would not tell him. Reluctantly he let out a sigh, nodding.

"I need some wood, as strong as you can find, and a good knife," he told her. Metal, he knew, would be better, but he was not skilled in that craft. The picks they had used before were stored safely at camp for such an occasion, but already that had proven useless. If the guards still patrolled the forest, he could not say. Will doubted he had the strength to even travel there, and back.

"Right," Matilda nodded, moving for the door already. "Keep quiet, and rest, until I get back. We have work to do, and you'll need your strength."

**TBC**


	36. Recovery

**First off, many many thanks to kegel for the beta :)**

**Now onto the chapter  
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**Chapter 36: Recovery **

He winced as he was laid down, the folds of cloth pressing against his back. His vision was blurry, making it hard to focus, to figure out where he was. There were voices above him, talking…no arguing, in the dim light as hands worked to pull the restrictive cloth free from his shoulders. Robin let out another groan as he was lifted, the cloak pulled from underneath him, before he was laid back down.

Once the initial pain wore away, he found that he was actually quite comfortable. Whatever he was on was soft, warm and inviting, his head sinking into the pillow behind him as he closed his eyes. It felt good to be here….wherever here was.

Robin found himself struggling to open his eyes again, to bring his vision into focus as he looked around. There was not much to see…it was too dark, but he could see the two talking, and he knew the voices. It did not take long for Robin to realize where he was.

"Dax?"

His voice was softer than he intended, and Robin wasn't quite sure why he was whispering. Maybe he didn't want to interrupt them, or worse, alert someone he didn't want to know that he was here. Yet the first time he tried, he got no response, and so said the name again, this time a bit louder.

It got the man's attention, the argument stopping as he came over. Robin tried to meet his gaze, but he felt exhausted, enough to where he could feel his eyelids drooping as he tried to make sense of what he was saying.

"I can't stay here."

"Don't worry," Dax responded, "You're safe here."

Robin was shaking his head. He opened his eyes again, focusing on the maiden who stood several feet away. "If they find me here…"

He didn't want to have to go into detail of what might happen. Harboring a wanted man was bad enough. And he was wanted…the earlier stories of what he had heard about Alfred worried him greatly. What if they did not believe he was dead? They would come looking for him, and they would find him here. And then Jane would pay for it all. He could not put that burden on anyone..

"They won't, trust me," Dax gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Jane will take care of everything. I'll be back in a few days to check on you."

Dax didn't wait for a response, turning back instead to where Jane was watching quietly. Robin watched only momentarily, eyes closing as he heard the whispering between the two. He could pick up a word here and there, but clearly the conversation was not meant for his ears. And he could rightly guess why. The idea…this idea, was a bad one. For more than one reason. Nathaniel, Dax and Rhodri had all risked themselves to get him to safety, and now Dax was willingly putting someone else in the same danger. Alfred's wrath, he assumed, would be great if things were ever figured out. His chest was tight with fear, the worry that something somewhere was forgotten, that something would be found, and then it would only be a matter of time before they all would end up with the repercussions.

He must have slept, the only logical conclusion coming to his mind when he next opened his eyes. There was more light than there had been before, sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wall from above. Robin realized dimly that he must be down below in some sort of cellar, built below the dwelling. There was confirmation to these thoughts as he could hear the steps above him, the ceiling creaking in rhythmic paces.

His dressings had been changed, as well as his clothes, all fresh and clean now, sometime while he had slumbered. Robin could not even recall the faintest of memories of it having happened, but could feel the difference, and relished in it quietly. He was feeling better than he had in all the past days, and wondered if it was from the recent rest, or perhaps the recovery from the poison he had been given earlier.

Slowly, he eased himself up, so that he was sitting. Robin could feel the immediate change, his vision swaying, causing him to grab a hold of the bed to steady himself. His head was pounding, protesting at his actions. While he might feel better now than he had in some time, it was clear that he was far from recovered. Robin stayed where he was, taking in even breaths, and blinking as his swaying slowed to a stop. Only when he felt steady, did he move again.

This time he was able to swing his legs over the side of the bed. Again he had to come to a stop to regain his senses, and muster up the courage to try and stand. He was nearly to that point when he heard the person approaching.

Jane had come through the door, carrying a tray, her face turned in surprise when she saw him. It shortly fell into an expressive frown, walking with a purpose and placing the tray down on the table that was near the bed.

"Back in bed," she gestured towards him, moving to fill the glass with liquid.

"I appreciate what you've done," Robin pointed out, hardly moving, "but I will not stay here any longer."

"Dax wished for me to take care of you," she responded, "I intend to do so."

Robin watched her carefully, noticing the look of determination on her face. But there was something else he knew.

"You don't want to though."

"I don't have anything against you," she didn't hesitate in her answer. "I just worry what it might bring."

"You know nothing about me," Robin said and watched her nod. He continued, "So why are you helping me then?"

"Because he asked me. And I trust him…and you do strange things for the ones you love."

This he knew; a lesson he himself had learned too late. It brought him memories of when he was back home, in Locksley, before the war. Had he been wise enough, he would have given up the chance at glory, to stay home with the one he loved. All of that was too late, far too late. He watched Jane quietly for a moment, before asking his next question.

"What _do _you know?"

He had met Jane only briefly, the time Dax had brought him here before. Dax had been careful about his words, had cautioned for Robin to do the same. Still, what explanation he had given Jane when he brought him here, battered as he was, Robin could only guess. How much could he say, or could he say anything at all, without endangering her, there was no telling.

"Dax told me there was an incident," she explained, her voice tight and quiet.

"You don't believe him?"

"I think there's more to it," she confirmed. "I always have, but I never asked him. I figured there was, and still is a good reason for why he will not say more. An honest reason, I mean."

So she had her suspicions. Robin could not blame her. Given everything that had happened, she would be a fool if she did not. He let out a groan, hanging his head as the dizziness began to return. When he felt the hands on his shoulders, easing him back down, Robin did not try and resist.

"You should try to eat," she told him once he was situated. Jane had propped several of the pillows up, so that he was reclining rather than laying flat on his back. She passed him the bowl, which he held with his good hand, grasping the spoon awkwardly with the other. His fingers protested at the small movements, refused altogether at other points, making him unable to do much of anything. When she took the bowl from him, he did not protest. And he was too hungry to try and complain when she held the spoon for him.

It was mostly broth, salty, with a few pieces of tough meat thrown in. Still, it was something his body was craving, Robin realizing then how long it had been since he had really eaten. And when the bowl was empty, he found himself longing for more, but did not ask. There was no way for him to know what it was like for Jane, or how well off she was. What she had already given might be all she had, and Robin would not make any more a burden of himself than what he already was. Already he was planning on staying only as long as he needed, and no more. The sooner he was gone from this place, the better off everyone would be.

He drank the weak ale himself, noting that something else was along with it as he grew tired soon after he had consumed it. Again he slept for a time, waking only momentarily as his bandages were checked. He was mostly lucid when the bindings were changed on his fingers, hissing at the pain that was there. Yet that was all he remembered, the rest being overshadowed by dreams as he slept.

* * *

He had been coming here almost every night now. Much knew the way even without the aid of a torch, but he took one along so that he could see the formations inside the cave. The light of the fire cast shadows on the stone, glistening off the small drops of water that dripped from the stalagmites above. Much had made himself as comfortable as possible, leaning against the wall for support, in a way that he could see both the entrance near his side, and the one that was above.

For each sound he heard, he found himself watching, waiting with bated breath to see if it was Robin. It had been long enough, too long for Much's comfort, for Robin to not have returned. Surely his master would have thought of something by now. Surely he would come here.

But each night he waited only brought with it the disappointment of returning to the others with the knowledge Robin had not come. Some of the nights Eleri would come with him. Most of the nights she was content to stay on her own. Whatever the case, she always came for him in the early morning, waking him if he had fallen asleep, to bring him back before the work started. She was watching out for him, far more than Robin was, he concluded.

So it was no surprise to hear her coming again now. She had come without any light, knowing full well that he would have one. And Much said nothing in return as she sat down near him, laying her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, closing his eyes as they sat there, breathing in deeply to catch her scent. This was the part he loved the most, perhaps the only part he loved, about being down here.

He could be content with her, he knew. It was almost satisfying…almost, if one did not think of the whole slavery ordeal. Of how bleak their lives truly were down here. Much did not know how long it had been since he had first arrived. It felt like forever ago that he had been an outlaw in the woods. Even longer since when he had been at war for the king. He found himself watching her, trying to fathom the whole truth to everything. That while he had been in Acre, she had been down here…it had been that long.

It left Much to wonder if he would be here for that long. Eleri had said their group had survived the longest, due to her knowledge of medicines and healing. Also they had had the luck to not suffer any great casualties, like another of the groups had during the last cave in. Much wondered how long one could survive like this, trapped below ground, if nothing ill happened to them. How long could one live?

"He's not coming," Eleri spoke, her voice quiet.

Unexpectedly, Much found himself nodding, before what she had said truly sunk in. He had been distracted by his thoughts, and now was frowning as he turned to her, readying himself to argue. Yet to his surprise, he found he could say anything. Much had already been thinking the same.

"It's…not like him," he finally managed, unsure of what else he could say.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" he was curious about the sudden apology.

"I know how it hurts, to learn the truth about someone you thought you cared about."

To this, he said nothing, but nodded. It did hurt, quite a bit. Robin had always been one to follow through on his word. Much had seen it so often. Both the good, and the bad. And yet, those were for other people. For peasants Robin hardly knew, or for comrades back in the war. Much had thought for a long time that Robin's principles were applied to everyone, in any situation. Now he was beginning to realize that that thought wasn't true.

It wouldn't be the first time. Robin had promised him once before he was to be a free man. Yet Robin often would treat him like the servant he once was. Robin had also claimed that Bonchurch would be his. Yet another promise that had never been seen through, though that could hardly be blamed on Robin. Much knew there had been complications, knew that the sheriff and Nottinghamshire were not right, and all of that had caused things to go ill. But even Robin treated the others far better than he had treated Much. What had happened here, was only proving everything to be true.

Robin had gone off, had left them behind. Much wondered if Robin would have stayed, if it had been someone else here. He thought back to their last conversation, the argument that had broken out between them. It had been about Eleri… Much found his chest tighten at the thought. Had Robin left him behind because Much now had her?

It was ridiculous for Robin to be angry about it if that were so. Much still stood by what he had first thought. That Robin was not the only one able to find love. As long as Much could remember, there had been Marian. He had seen the two of them grow from being friends into lovers, had watched as Robin had first proposed, and then left her behind for the war instead. He has also been there when they had met again upon their return. He knew full well how Robin loved Marian. So why could Robin not see the same for him and Eleri?

He wrapped his arm around her tighter, feeling better about the decision he was making. Much knew that he would rather spend the rest of his life down here, however bleak it was, as long as he with Eleri. Rather than to go free, and be forced to leave her behind at Robin's demand. He would not go back to Sherwood. No…this was his life now. He would have to learn to make the best of it.

"Let's go back," he turned to Eleri, glad to see that she agreed. She was first to go, and he followed, torch in hand as he looked at the cave one last time. It was the last time he would come here. He was done waiting for Robin.

* * *

True to her word, Matilda returned later that day with the supplies he had requested. Will had fallen asleep, waking later to find her busy in the kitchen. Rosa too, had returned from her day's labor, complaining more about soreness and ailments that plagued her. It was Matilda's bickering responses that woke him. And when he emerged from the room, he was greeted in the same manner.

"I suppose you too have a list of woes that burden you," she wondered, stirring something in a pot that was over the fire.

Will held his side as he sat down across from Rosa at the table. "I've been imprisoned, starved, stabbed, not to mention all of my friends are still held prisoner," he suggested lightly.

"Well, at least you have physical implications," Matilda agreed, motioning to Rosa. "My daughter on the other hand, complains of imaginary ailments no one else can see."

"They're not imaginary," she whined quietly, holding her head in her hands. Will watched her from where he sat, noting indeed she was pale. Rosa had hardly paid him any heed, however, as though his presence here had always been normal.

"Worried about your husband, that's all, making a fuss over nothing," Matilda shook her head, spooning two of the bowls full of whatever concoction she was making. One was given to him, the other, set in front of Rosa. A moment later, Matilda joined the both of them with her own.

Will took a few sips experimentally, pleased to discover it was better than the last one she had made. Perhaps her skills were improving, or maybe he was grateful to have food more often than simply once a day. It left him sitting with guilt, knowing that the others did not have the same fortune. He hoped they soon would.

"What is your plan?"

To this, Rosa looked up in confusion. "Plan? What's this about a plan? What's going on?"

"Nothing to worry yourself over," Matilda shook her head. "Just a business matter, that's all. You need to get your rest, you'll feel better when you do. And by then I'll have some fresh bread ready for you to eat. Go on now."

She had moved to her feet, shooing her daughter into the other room. Will stayed where he was, head down, as he began to figure that he had said something he should have not. He took a few more bites of the stew, feeling not as hungry anymore now that the guilt had began to take its place.

Sometime later, Matilda returned. He apologized, but she brushed it off with a scowl. "Not your fault, I should have said something to you before. I don't want to set her into anymore of a worry. Not if what I am thinking is true."

"What is that?" he wondered, curious now.

"I have my suspicions," she explained, sitting back down at the table. "But no reason to say so until I'm sure. Not with her husband gone; she can barely take care of herself, let alone a child."

He blinked, startled by what was just said. "A child? You mean to say she's-"

"She has the symptoms, yes," Matilda nodded. "And timing is right for when he went on the road. But it could be the same with a touch of the flu, or the worry with what is all going around."

Will could only nod. He would have no idea to what those symptoms were. The only time he had been close to a woman who was with child was his mother. He was young when Luke was born, and could not recall any clear memories of that event. Nor could he remember anything in particular about his mother, or what she had gone through while she was with child. Matilda, on the other hand, had been the one to bring many children into this world. No doubt that she had a far better idea on what to expect in that instance.

"Now, about what we are going to do," Matilda continued on, as though everything they had said before in regards to her daughter was of no matter.

"You said you had an idea?" he pressed, curious to know what had been on her mind that morning.

"I have a way into the castle," she answered simply. "There's not more I can offer, but it is a start."

It was a start, he had to admit. But he still had his suspicions. "How?"

"One of the guards, his boy fell ill, I treated him a few weeks back. Didn't have the money to pay, a common story these days as I'm sure you know. I don't charge my patients none, you understand, only help where I can. Many of them want to repay me, and he was no different. Told me that if I ever needed a favor, he would do what he could."

To this, Will was uneasy. He did not like the prospect of having a castle guard assist them. Will knew that not all the guards were on Vaysey's side; that some of the guards still had good hearts, and were doing whatever kept them and their families alive. Yet whatever he might say to Matilda might not be the same he would say to the sheriff. Concerning the position of things, how hard it was to get ahead, it would not take much temptation for even the best of men to take sides.

"He'll get us in through the kitchens, but the rest will have to be up to us."

"Us?" Will looked at her sharply. They had been through this already. "It's too dangerous for you."

"Rubbish," she snapped at him, clearing away the empty dishes. "How far do you think you'll be able to get in on your own?"

He was about to argue, but wasn't able to bring himself to do so, realizing that she was right. He had been afraid all this time to go by himself, knowing he was not strong enough. Matilda was offering her help, help he should rightly take. But he wasn't comfortable in risking her in something that would most likely end poorly. However, he doubted that mattered; she seemed determined to come whether or not he wanted her to.

"You know the way to the dungeons, I'm trusting?" she asked, sitting back down across from him.

Will nodded after a moment. "I can make a key that will open the door there," he admitted, "but once inside we'll need the jailer's keys."

Before, when breaking into the dungeons, Will had never had the time to examine the locks, so therefore, never had been able to make a key. It was simply easier to break through the hinges, considering how weak they were, especially with the weight of the door. The sheriff had wised up in recent times, had contracted a better smith, had made better hinges.

Back when he, and the rest of the gang, had been tricked into one of the castle holds, Will had had the time to make a replica key. A key that was still back at camp, in case the need for it should ever arrive. It was of little use to him now, but he was fairly certain he could make another from memory, at least a basic form. It would be quick and easy to shape it once there, to make it a good fit.

"Shouldn't be too hard," Matilda mused, referencing towards his latest comment. "Still have that guard's uniform you were dolled up in; a bit of cleaning to get rid of that blood, and they won't know the difference. Then you escort a prisoner in, you'll have the jailer fooled in no time."

"Where am I going to get a prisoner?" he wondered, knowing full well they could not just snatch some random peasant of the street. Will watched as Matilda's grin widened.

"How about a cantankerous old woman?"

"You be a prisoner? They wouldn't believe it; what would I say you were in for?"

"Do you honestly think we need a reason?" she wondered, and Will knew she had a valid point. It sounded as though it was easy to get on the wrong side of the sheriff nowadays.

"Alright… so we go in, get to the dungeons, get them out. We can go tonight-"

"Not tonight," she shook her head, cutting him off.

"We can't wait," he started to argue, but she held up her hand.

"I'm not letting no patient of mine go gallivanting off to the dungeons just to get himself killed. You can barely walk, let alone run, or fight. I can assume you'll need to fight; I doubt the guards you'll pass by will step to one side and welcome you with open arms."

"The longer I wait, the longer they suffer," he pointed out. Will didn't want to mention that the wait made him uncomfortable, knowing he was safe, and warm, and well-fed, while the opposite was true for the rest of them. They did not even know that he was alive. What if they tried to do something rash because of that thought?

"Alright, go on then," she waved her hands impatiently. "You think you can do it alone, then go at it. I'm not going to stop you; I'm not going to go in after you either."

He was tempted, but even the thought of standing did not go well with him. Nor did the thought of donning the uniform, which was heavy and bulky, sure to make the trip all the more difficult. Then he would have to find a way into the dungeons, figure out how to take the jailer down, and set the others free. Will let out a sigh, resigning to the fact that Matilda was right in at least one sense.

"Fine; how long do we have to wait?"

"That is up to you," she cautioned him. "Be a good patient, and you'll get better faster. You'll need the time to make your key, and come up with a plan in getting the others out. I'm sure they'll need weapons, of some sort, if they're going to fight. Wouldn't you agree?"

To this, Will nodded. They would need weapons. But where would they get them? He doubted Matilda had anything of her own that would prove useful. Basic swords would have to do, but too many and they became heavy. Not to mention the suspicion of a guard carrying half a dozen weapons for his own self. He would garner a lot of attention for that.

Will could not come up with an answer now. But he knew he would eventually. Robin had placed similar challenges on him before, in coming up with simple and elaborate traps for their new camp in order to keep intruders away. Surely he would be able to come up with a few simple devices in supplying the others with weapons.

It couldn't be that difficult, could it?

**TBC**


	37. Entrance

**Happy New Year! And no better way to start the new year than with a new chapter. And of course, the thanks goes to Kegel for her help with this :)**

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**Chapter 37: Entrance**

He knelt when he reached the edge of the trees, mindful of how his body protested to the movement. With the recent rain the ground was soft, his knees sinking into the moistened dirt. Robin grabbed the edge of the branch, pulling it on one side so that he could have a better look. He hadn't really any more of a plan now than when he had left Jane's.

It had taken him some time to convince her that he was ready to leave. She hadn't trusted him, and most likely for a good reason. As he was feeling now, Robin was beginning to question if he should have actually come. He had felt well enough that morning, having had no fever, and the strength had returned to him after a full night's sleep. But it had not lasted, his earlier, fatigued state returning the closer he had come to Sherwell.

But now that he was here, Robin could feel his strength beginning to come back. Perhaps it was from the reprieve he was giving himself now, or simply from seeing the manor from where he sat. He was still within the line of trees, sheltered from view of the guards that patrolled the area. Robin could see the entrance to the mines, and wondered briefly if there was any chance he would make it there unseen.

Unlikely. He let out a snort, shaking his head. Even if he did, what would he do once inside? There were guards positioned at the bottom of the shaft, and Robin doubted they would take kindly to his appearance. Most certainly knowing that if Nathaniel's and Dax's ploy had worked, they all would believe him dead.

No, slipping inside would not work. Nor would fighting his way in. Even in his best condition he was far more than outnumbered. Given his state now, Robin doubted he would be able to take anyone down, let alone all of Alfred's men. It left him few options, and the faintest of hopes.

"I need your help," he said finally, resisting the urge to look behind him. He had heard the other approaching, and knew already who it was.

"You're mad," Dax told him coldly. To this, Robin did turn, meeting his gaze.

"You knew I would come back," he gestured with his hands. How else would Dax know that he had been here? It was obvious the man had been keeping an eye out for his return.

"I figured you would have waited until you were better."

"I need to get into the mines," Robin ignored the last comment. He did not have the luxury to wait until his hurts were fully healed.

"Now you really are mad," Dax shook his head, and turned to leave.

Robin was up on his feet, despite the pains throughout his body. A few quick steps and he had caught up with the other, Dax coming to a stop to face him as he neared.

"You said it yourself," Robin told him angrily. "You said that if I was to do anything, I first had to live. You knew I would be here… and you knew that I would ask this of you. And you promised me that you were going to help me. Or was that all a lie?"

"Help you?" Dax raised an eyebrow. "I _helped_ to save your life. And if you're foolish enough to throw it all away, then by all means, go ahead. That's your decision. Not mine."

"What about Jane?" Robin wondered, curious. "You have a chance to be with her, like the way that you want. Not only that, but you can do the right thing, and put an end to this. I have a plan, but I can't do anything unless I can find a way back into the mines. That's all I'm asking; will you help me with that?"

He stood where he was, unresponsive, hardly even looking in Robin's direction. The man seemed torn, weighing the inevitable decision that had been placed before him. It was an easy choice for Robin. He would have helped if anyone had asked him the same. Yet Dax was not the same as he was.

Robin still was not sure to who Dax was loyal to. While he had never given Robin away, he had been reluctant to help when he first had been taken prisoner. Still, he had helped… and he had done what he could to keep Much safe from harm, two things which Robin was eternally grateful for. But if that had been for Robin's benefit, or if Dax had done it to clear his own conscience, Robin could not say.

Dax met his gaze at long last, shaking his head slowly. "This is foolishness, but I might I have an idea."

Robin nodded, knowing the former was true, but was elated almost to hear the man agree to help. He started forward, but Dax shook his head, motioning for him to stay where he was.

"Stay here… I'll need some time."

* * *

He had stayed as Dax had asked him to. For a time he had stayed where he could see the happenings of the manor, which in truth were not much. Most of the people he saw had been guards, and children, moving from the manor to the entrance of the mines, carrying out the duties that were expected of them. He saw Dax once, crossing the grounds, and later on, caught sight of Latimer, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

Robin had pulled back after that, deciding to find a more comfortable spot to rest. He hadn't gone far, a few paces back to where a group of several trees grew in close quarters, fitting himself inside the open area between the trunks. He had wrapped the cloak around him, keeping the hood up to ward off the drizzling rain that had started, and eventually, had fallen asleep.

That was something he was trying desperately to not do here. Robin could still remember how foolish it had felt. To be caught so unawares. Had he been armed, Robin knew he could have done some serious damage. Even Dax had been surprised at how fast Robin had reacted, had barely avoided being belted by the punch. Robin was angrier at himself for having even slept, and being so easily approached. He could only imagine what might have happened had it been someone else who had found him, rather than Dax coming back as he had promised.

They had taken their time, Dax insisting that Robin calm down, before they had gone towards the manor. When he had, Robin kept his head down, and followed Dax to the back, where they slipped inside through the kitchen doors. It had been quiet then, the night fully upon them, and easy to pass through the halls. Robin had been led down a series of hallways, a confusing path, to a room he had not been in before. It was here that he was left to wait once more.

The room was not very large, but it did have a back area that was separated with a bit of cloth. Behind it there were an assortment of supplies; clothing, tools and old parchments that had been withered away over time. It was here he had squeezed into, and now was waiting. Dax had brought him a satchel of food, a flask of water, and bade him to get some rest, claiming it would be morning before anything happened at the earliest.

Rest was not something that would come so easily. Still burning from the humiliation earlier due to his reactions, Robin did not want to find himself in the same situation twice in less than a day. Furthermore, he concluded, it was difficult to sleep in a place where anyone could be your enemy.

Dax and Nathaniel, he knew, would bring him no harm, but he was certain many, if not all, of the other guards, would not hesitate to give him away if they happened to find him. Robin wanted to be alert, wanted to be able to take control of the situation if things did not go according to plan. How he would manage to do that, given his current situation, he wasn't certain. But it would be far better for him to be awake and aware, rather than sleep through it all, and find himself in a worse situation upon waking.

He ate what had been brought, drank half the water in the flask, before turning his attention to other matters. The short time he had spent recovering had done little for him. There was still pain, considerable pain, but less than there had been before. It would be some time before he was well again. If he would ever be. It had been a long time since he had last been completely well.

It was years ago, before his life as an outlaw, before the war even. That was when things were simple, when he was simply the Earl of Huntington, Lord of Locksley, and his only worries were making sure the peasants had enough food to eat and caring for the village.

Robin doubted he would ever be that person again. Years had gone by since he had last lived at Locksley. His short time after his return from war could hardly be counted into that fact. It was as though he had been more a guest there, rather than Lord. The forest seemed more his home now. He found more comfort there than he did while at Locksley, or in Nottingham. And he found comfort being among the others who were back at camp.

Robin had never given much thought to what might happen to any of them when the king returned to England. They had spoken of it from time to time, yes, but they never really discussed it. Of course it was assumed he would be reinstated at Locksley, that Much would finally have his Bonchurch… and the others… it was hard to say.

It was not likely they would stay in the forest forever, though Robin could hardly imagine them anywhere else. Perhaps they would come back to Locksley with him, or go about their own ways, returning to their homes just as he would. Those times seemed more like dreams than anything else, however. Living in the forest… it was what they knew, and by now, it seemed like they had always done so. And being here, the change in accommodations, left Robin longing to have it all back.

It would be so easy to simply leave. To walk through the forest, back to Sherwood, and continue on as though nothing had ever happened. But Robin knew it would not be the same. He would abandon those here who were counting on him. Robin would not be able to live with the guilt, but that was not the only reason. He would not leave without Much.

Robin wondered what the other was thinking. They had not parted on the best of terms the last time they had seen one another. They had fought, briefly, over Eleri. What would become of her, and how would Much handle knowing the truth? Robin could only hope he could talk sense into the man.

He let out a sigh, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. Robin was eager to sleep, yet fighting to stay awake. Thinking was helping him do so, but by now he had exhausted every memory, had mapped out every plan, and tried to find an answer to every question he had. How much time had gone by? More importantly, how much longer would it be before Dax returned?

It seemed too easy, the door opening as he thought this. Robin turned to look, but otherwise stayed perfectly still, watching from where he sat. Through the cloth he could see the forms, silhouettes, moving towards him. He could hear Dax talking, saying something, and then there was another somewhat familiar voice, perhaps another guard. The third was not saying anything, and though Robin longed to see who the three were, he did not dare to move.

Dax spoke with the other for several minutes, and Robin could then hear the closing of the door. Now there were just the two. There was Dax, who he trusted, but try as he might, Robin could not even recognize who the other might be. He sat still, listening to them talk, picking up a word or two, but never really catching the entire conversation. Robin flinched just then, when his name was called. He sat there for a moment, calming himself, before moving to his feet slowly, and edging his way out.

There was Dax, as he suspected, and another man, who he did not recognize, standing in the midst of the room. The clothes he wore were old, worn down, his overall appearance suggesting that he was perhaps much like him, an outlaw, or a petty thief on the run. The man grinned at him, all the while Dax looked at the two.

"What's the plan?" Robin finally prompted, unable to stand in silence any longer. If something was to be done, it was best to have it over with.

"You will become him," Dax nodded to the other.

"If he's becoming me, do I have to become him?" the man wondered, rubbing his chin as he watched Robin. "No offense, but you don't look too fetching for my taste, with all those bandages and bruises."

"The feeling is mutual," Robin muttered, watching him with a bit of disfavor.

"Henry here is an _old _friend of mine," Dax explained, stressing the 'old' part. "Inadvertently saved his life a few years back, so he owes me a favor."

"I don't understand," Robin shook his head, still not quite sure what this would accomplish.

"Henry's one of our new miners. I _found _him loitering around in the forest, and took him in. He starts work today. You'll go down as him, and he'll stay here _quietly_ until tonight, when I can get him out safely."

"Will that work?" Robin was eager to try, but cautious all the same. Already he had pressed his luck once. Doing so again was not a wise decision.

"You keep your face covered, and your tongue still, and it will. Henry was presented as a mute… they won't expect you to talk. And it will be too dark in the mines to size you up properly. You'll be with Nathaniel, and he'll help you from there."

This, Robin liked. He knew it could work, that it would work if played carefully.

"When do we go?"

"As soon as you are ready," Dax prompted him, motioning to the chest that sat to one side. "You'll find clothes in there; once changed, we'll use the shackles, put on a show, and they won't even notice a difference."

* * *

Work had gone as usual that day. Truthfully there was hardly any change from the menial labor from day to day. Waking in the early morning, crawling through the mine shafts throughout the day, and coming back to the cave at night. Much was used to the entire ordeal by now, which he considered a good thing, coming to the realization he would be here for what seemed a long time.

He didn't want to believe it would be for the rest of his life. With or without Robin's help, he was determined he would find a way to escape, and bring Eleri along with him. At this point, he had not yet told Eleri about his plans. Loose plans they were, for his only idea was to somehow climb up the side of the drip cave, and out the hole Robin would frequently come in. It was easier said than done, he knew.

Much had already attempted to do so once. He hadn't even managed to get off the ground. The constant dripping of the water had made the sides of the cave slippery and smooth. There was hardly anywhere to grab, or even try to climb. But Much thought reasonably if he had some kind of rope to secure to the ceiling above, he would be able to climb without fault. How exactly he would manage to get the rope up there, he wasn't sure. But he was confident he would find a way. As soon as he managed to find a rope, that was.

He used the water provided to wash his hands free of the dust, and grime, frowning as he worked his fingers over the tired and worn palms. There was a new blister there, something he thought was quite impossible. When he had first started, there had been so many, all of which were painful especially more so when they would swell and pop. The cloths provided to help cushion his hands from the constant blows were not nearly enough. But what should the guards care, Much wondered? As long as they did not do the work, it did not concern them.

He settled down next to Eleri, forgetting his previous woes as he saw the first of the children making their way in. Much was hungry, had been hungry since the last meal, and it almost felt like he was always hungry. This was his favorite part of the day. The supper meal was always larger than the rest of them, and more often than not, Eleri would share her portion with him as well.

At first he had felt guilty in taking her share. But she had convinced him time after time that she never ate all that was given, and was glad to have someone kind like him to share it with. The comment had flattered Much, had made him blush, all the more so when the other members of their group were watching them. They had gotten used to the pair spending so much time with one another, that or they simply did not care, for they said nothing either way.

The boy reached them, setting the large basket down and pulling out the wrapped food one by one. It was passed to their left first, Much having to wait until almost the last before he got his own share. Eagerly he unwrapped the bread, still noting it was fresh, and pulled a piece off to toss in his mouth.

He stilled, watching the boy as he chewed. He almost looked familiar, and after a moment, Much realized why. This was the child that had brought him messages from Robin before. It was not uncommon to see him down here, for he would often be seen carrying the food or buckets of water to the men and women who worked. Still, Much had to wonder if there was more reason to it, catching the boy's eyes.

Rhodri, he believed the boy was called, met his gaze before turning away, handing out the last of the bread. Of course, Much knew it was foolish to hope to hear something. It had been far too long since he had either seen or heard from Robin, indicating his earlier belief that Robin had indeed left him behind. So why then would there be something now?

He turned away, ready to go back to eating, but Much paused, knowing that he did see something. He looked up in time to see Rhodri nod, his eyes flickering quickly towards the back of the cave, to where the tunnel would take them to the other cave. Which meant that Robin _was _here. Much looked the way Rhodri had indicated, frowned, and then went back to his eating.

Rhodri had left by then, not risking in lingering any longer. There was no way for him to tell if Much had understood his gesture, or even was going. Much had it in mind not to. Robin had not come for him before, had intentionally shut him out, and now wanted to command him like a trained hunting dog, to come running when he called. He would not be like that. Robin would find out how it felt to be on the other side.

As he ate the rest of his bread, he looked up, pausing as he saw Eleri watching him. She said nothing, for the others around them were still awake, but he knew what she was thinking. Eleri must have seen Rhodri too, must know that Robin was waiting for him. Scowling he turned away, and prepared his bed roll, more than ready to go to sleep.

He lay on the ground, head resting on his arms as he closed his eyes. Shortly after, he opened them again, eyebrows furrowing as he saw that Eleri had moved closer to him, leaning near so that she did not have to speak very loud.

"When will you go?"

Before, he had always waited for the others to go to sleep. Yet now that Eleri knew of Robin, she would want to come. Much shook his head, closing his eyes again.

"I'm not going," he stated simply.

He wondered what she would say to that. She would be happy, he supposed. Eleri never much cared for Robin, had never taken a liking to him and only seemed to tolerate him when she found out he was going to help. Or so he said. Much could only wonder briefly if Robin had come back to help. He couldn't think of another reason why the man had come…

He opened his eyes to find Eleri still watching him. It was a sad, forlorn expression on her face. That alone was troubling, and he found himself frowning.

"What?"

"You should go," she encouraged him.

"I waited… we both waited for him to come already," Much answered, clarifying himself. "He could have sent word, could have at least let us know. Instead of letting us believe differently."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "Maybe he has a reason for that. You're upset with him, but is that any reason to let this chance slip away? What if he does have a way out? You're willing to give that up because of what? To prove a point?"

What she said made sense, but still it left him confused. He sat up, leaning on one elbow. "Why are you saying this? I thought you didn't like him."

She shrugged mildly, turning away as if it were no big deal.

"I honestly don't think my feelings towards him matter in the least," she admitted. "But if he has a way out of here, I want to know."

"And if he doesn't, then it only proves that you were right about him," Much added that fact. He wasn't surprised to see her nod.

"So there is really nothing for me to lose. If you go, you will know the truth as well. That what I've told you is right, or you can prove me wrong, and maybe he is the man you claim him to be."

Much let his gaze drop, thinking over what she had just said. To be honest, he himself was not sure if Robin was the man Much thought him to be. For a long time he had idolized Robin, but perhaps that was because he had no one else. It was like Eleri had told him, a time ago, that it was hard to know any different if you had not seen any different. While Much had seen some difference between his former master, and Robin, that was only two. Robin obviously was better than Hamon had been, but in retrospect, it did not mean that Robin was _good. _

Much liked to think he was. Still wanted to believe so, wanted to believe that all he and Robin had done for the king, for England, and for the poor to be good. It had to be, didn't it? He let out a sigh, running a hand over his face.

He wanted to get out of here. If he would return to Sherwood, that was unforeseen. He did not want to leave Eleri, was not sure if he could go back to life in the forest. After all, what was there that waited for him? And that was even if Robin would get them out of here, if the man even could…

"At least hear what he has to say."

Much nodded at last, knowing she was right. It was odd, funny almost, because he had a feeling had she not met Robin herself, she would be saying the opposite. Yet maybe it was because Robin had promised her freedom. And she wanted that freedom more than anything else. He met her gaze then.

"Will you come with me?"

In all honesty it was difficult to stay awake. Robin was certain he had drifted off more than once, knowing full well his body was protesting to everything that was going on. Dax was right; he had not fully recovered from his wounds. And it was becoming more and more apparent as the time wore on.

It had taken time for him to change into the clothes Dax had acquired for him. His body was not used to the movements needed, his muscles protesting as he turned and twisted in order to get them all situated. But once he was dressed, no one could tell any different.

There had been a bit of fear with him when the shackles were secured. Memories of recent and past events, reminding him that things never went well when he ended up in irons. Robin had reminded himself that he would be alright, that he was with friends. It was, as Dax had put it, simply for show. All new prisoners were chained, and any without them would be stopped, would be questioned. And when that happened, then they surely would know.

Yet as he was, with the cloth wrapped around his face, the chains binding his arms and legs, no one bothered to look twice. Dax had taken him to the entrance of the mines, and had left him there as Robin went on his own. Climbing had been difficult with his injured hand, had taken him twice as long as it would normally. But it was Nathaniel who was waiting for him at the bottom, and he knew why Robin had been slow.

For a time he was forced to work, being watched by more than one guard. Yet as soon as the others had left, Nathaniel had pulled him to one side. Robin had then led him down the tunnels to where the overhang protruded out into the cave he had met Much in, and with Nathaniel's help, they had used a rope to lower him inside.

It was here he was waiting, hoping that Much would soon arrive. He did not know when Nathaniel would come back for him, and he knew that he had to first speak with Much about what would happen over the course of the next passing days. Rhodri would give Much the signal to come, but Robin hadn't the vaguest notion of what time it was. Not all the way down here. Much would not be able to come until the night.

After waiting for a time, Robin had finally fallen asleep. He knew it would do him good to rest, though it would not cure anything. At least it would help, it would give him some strength to carry on. It was not comfortable, with how he was sitting, that much he could tell when he did wake to find the new aches, and how stiff he was. Robin ignored it, however, knowing he had woken for a reason.

He could hear the voices, and though Robin guessed who it was, he was still cautious. One could hardly blame him, given what had recently transpired. Robin let out a whistle, the common signal used back home in Sherwood, and waited. He didn't have to wait long, the call returning, and it was then Robin knew that all was well.

Moving to his feet was a difficult task, Robin bracing himself against the wall as he edged out from around the corner he had been hiding in. The darkness was cast off from around him, the torch lighting the main area between him and the others. Robin had a feeling that Much would bring Eleri, but part of Robin hoped that he would not. He wasn't sure how he could face her, knowing the truth of what he knew, and say nothing of it. Yet he could not say anything; he could not give in to temptation.

All of them were quiet, Robin seeing the pale expressions on their faces as they sawhim. He had discarded the cloths that had kept his face concealed, and so knew that they could see a great deal even in the flickering light. Robin tried to come up with something to say, to break the silence between them, but found himself at an utter loss of words.

"Master," Much's voice finally was found, heavy in shock as he stepped closer. "What happened?"

"I'm alright," Robin was quick to reassure him. He had not heard Much sound so grief-stricken, not since back in the war when Robin had taken injury. That of course had ended up with a heavy fever, spending a number of days in a restless sleep, fighting off demons. It was strange to ponder over everything, to discover that this was quite the same.

"But you're hurt," the man protested, shaking his head. He switched the torch from one hand to the other, reaching out to touch him.

Without thought Robin pulled back, scowling at the motion. Much had no intention of causing him any further hurts, but all of it had been instinct. He met Much's gaze apologetically, hoping that all of it was not taken poorly.

"I don't understand," Much was shaking his head. If he seemed offended by the slight, he wasn't showing it. Instead there was still concern on his face, an edginess that Robin knew all too well. Robin opened his mouth, about to try and explain, but Eleri cut him off first.

"You were found out."

It wasn't a question. She simply knew; something that shouldn't have surprised him. Eleri, no doubt, had far more experience here than what Much did. Of course she would know, or at least be able to guess to what had taken place. Unable to deny it, Robin simply nodded.

"Found out? What do you mean?"

"How did you get away?" Eleri wondered, paying little attention to Much. Much, however, was not so easily swayed.

"Get away? Get away from what?"

"Some of the guards here are on our side," Robin explained, careful to not use any names. "They helped me, and they're willing to help us further."

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Much stepped between them, scowling. "What was found out? And what are we getting away from?"

"Alfred," Eleri turned to Much then, meeting his gaze. Robin watched as Much paused, turning back to him the next moment, realization on his face.

"That's why…that's why you didn't come sooner?"

Robin nodded in confirmation. He wasn't sure what else he could say. He certainly did not want to go into detail of what had taken place.

"I take it back then."

"Take what back?"

"Everything I said about you," Much explained quickly. "Well, not everything, just the bad things."

Robin found himself grinning a little, enjoying hearing the old Much. He had missed that too often as of the late, the common sense, the need to over explain. There were a lot of things he was beginning to miss.

"He-we thought you had abandoned us," Eleri added quietly, clarifying herself.

To this, Robin swallowed, meeting Much's gaze even as the man turned away. "I'm sorry, my friend. I would have come sooner if only I could have."

"You're lucky to be alive," Eleri nodded towards him.

Robin agreed quietly. There had already been several people who had stressed his point. Yet by this time in his life, Robin had cheated death so many times, it felt as though it was almost a normal thing to do.

"So what do we do now?"

Much had finally turned back to him, but the guilt was still easy to read in his friend's features. No doubt this would be something they would have to speak of later, when there was more time. However, Robin was grateful for the change of topics. He leaned against the wall for some support, noting how easily he was already getting tired.

"We're going to get you… all of you, above ground."

"How?"

"You'll just have to trust me. But when that time comes, you'll have to be ready. Do you know if any of the others will be willing to help us?"

Eleri was quick in nodding. "From our lot, at least. And the others, I don't see why not. I can't imagine anyone is pleased to be down here."

"How will we know when that time is?" Much wondered, curious now.

"You will know," Robin reassured him. "But say nothing, not until I give word. I do not know how long it will take me to prepare things. But once they are ready, it will go quickly."

"What do we do when we are above ground?" she couldn't help but wonder. "What happens to us?"

"Getting you above ground is the first step," he admitted. "It will be breaking free of Alfred, of the guards, that will be the real challenge. It may involve fighting."

Robin knew the last part for a fact. It was dangerous enough already, what he was going to do, but he would be risking lives even further by subjecting them to armed guards. Yet he would be armed, and so would Dax and Nathaniel. And the miners… they had picks and tools they could use to their advantage. A makeshift weapon was better than none at all.

"And that is all?"

Eleri was watching him, waiting for an answer. Robin nodded slowly. He wished there was more he could say, but he feared he would risk a panic if he did. It would only take one misplaced word to start it all. The less he said to others, the better the plan would hold.

"So we go back and wait? For how long?"

"I will be here, every night," Robin promised, to the both of them. "I will tell you all that I can if you come this way, but if you do come, take caution. I do not want for anyone to suspect what is going on."

"They will not suspect any different than what they already have," Eleri gave him a smile, glancing at Much.

The man was hardly paying attention, his gaze focused on Robin instead.

"You shouldn't be here," he spoke suddenly, causing Robin to frown.

"What do you mean?"

"You should be resting," Much explained, "Getting better. You're hurt, you need to rest… it's what you've always told me."

"I'll be fine, Much," Robin reassured him. "The both of you should be getting back though, before you are missed."

"I won't leave you here," Much was shaking his head, taking a step closer. "What if something happens? What if something goes wrong?"

"What could go wrong in here?"

Much threw his hand up in the air, shaking his head. "I don't know… you could… get dizzy and fall off the side," he pointed hastily, "or the rats… the rats could come and try and eat you."

"Eat me?" Robin scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Really, Much?"

"They like blood, Allan told me that one time," he explained. "You could be bleeding... and there are rats down here. It could happen."

"You do know that Allan made that up, right?" he wondered, but then shook his head, not expecting an answer. "I will be fine. But you will not be if the morning comes and they do not find you back with the group. You can't stay."

"He should," Eleri spoke suddenly, having stayed silent throughout the exchange. "I'll come and get him before Garner comes. They won't know any different. I promise."

Robin hesitated, but then nodded slowly. He supposed that was true, and he trusted her. And if he was honest with himself, he did not look forward to being left alone. This way, he would not be.

They all agreed quietly, and Eleri bid them both a quiet good-night, before crawling back through the tunnel. Robin watched her go before turning back to Much, still taken aback by the forlorn expression on the man's face.

Now all he had to do was come up with a way to explain all that had happened.

**TBC**


	38. Waterwheel

Sorry for the long wait, life has been crazy as of late. Hopefully things have calmed down a little, so I can concentrate on writing some more :)

Many thanks to kegel for the beta!

* * *

**Chapter 38: Waterwheel**

He was glad that Eleri had found a way for him to stay that night. Much felt enough guilt for his earlier speculations, and though relieved to find out they were not true, he couldn't help feel all the worse for thinking them in the first place.

They hardly had a chance to talk, however. Robin fell asleep soon after Eleri had gone, with Much promising to wake him if anything happened. What _could _possibly happen here, Much wasn't sure, seeing they were far down in the depths of the cave, but he had promised nonetheless to ease Robin's anxiety.

Yet it did little to ease his own. Despite the questions he had asked, Robin had not given him a clear answer. He had passed all that had happened off as no big matter, shrugging his shoulders, and pulling away despite Much's attempt to look him over. Much did not believe Robin's argument that he was well enough, for he could easily see for himself that he was not.

With Robin's hood pushed back, Much could easily see the bruises that marred the man's face. A mixture of colors, hues of blue intermingling with shades of yellow showed just how recent all of it had taken place. More concerning, to Much's thoughts it seemed, was the bandage that encased his right hand. There was no blood to be seen, which he thought was a good thing, but it had been easy to notice how Robin was using it…or rather, wasn't.

Robin had not come down with any weapons. None that Much could see, at least, but still wondered what exactly Robin would do. They had talked about it before, certainly, about escaping this place. Robin had said there was a plan, but had also said there would most likely be a fight. Yet how could Robin fight like this? He would be able to wield a sword, that was for certain. Robin had become well acquainted with fighting with either hand, yet Much had to wonder if the man would even have the stamina to hold his own. And certainly using his bow would be out of question. He wouldn't be able to shoot.

That worried him. It was not because Robin was good with a bow; and he was, Much knew he had not seen anyone better. It worried him more because shooting was one thing Robin loved to do. Robin had not said anything about it, just like he had not said anything about the rest of his injuries, which Much felt were far more than he could see at the moment. Of course, Much rationalized that Robin was not speaking of it because he did not want to think of it. The man was often like that.

That was not something Much could understand. Not thinking of something didn't make it go away. Yet Robin seemed to act as though it did. He glanced back up at the man, surprised to find Robin watching him.

"How long has it been?"

His voice was rough, and he worked to clear it as Much answered.

"It's not morning yet."

He hadn't been keeping track of the time. That was something Much had given up long ago; it was too difficult to tell down here if minutes had gone by, or hours instead. Rather it was the rousing from the guards that got them up, that signaled it was morning. And Eleri had not come for him yet, so he knew that it was not.

Robin nodded to the answer, closing his eyes in a grimace of pain that Much could easily see. Whatever had happened to him must have been unfavorable, seeing now how distanced he was. Much waited, but after Robin had not said anything further, he came to the assumption the man had fallen asleep once more. That was a good thing, he decided. Djaq was always after Robin to rest after he had been hurt. She always said that it helped, and after tending to Robin in the Holy Land after his injury, he had seen the same result.

"What made you think that I had left?"

Much had not been expecting for Robin to say anything. It caught him off guard, not just because of that, but also because he wasn't sure how he would answer. Robin had opened his eyes after Much failed to respond, meeting his gaze. Much turned away, shrugging.

"I…we heard nothing from you," he said simply, hoping that would be enough. He still felt horrible for thinking all those things in the first place. Why did Robin have to remind him of it?

"Even if this hadn't happened…I may not have been able to come to you," Robin pointed out.

"Yes, that is true," Much supposed.

"Then why did you think otherwise? Have I let you down before?"

"No," Much shook his head quickly, meeting his gaze again. Surely Robin did not think that. "Of course you haven't. I just…what I said before, about you and Marian. I know how you feel about her. I figured I upset you…and I thought maybe, well, that maybe you felt you would be better if I didn't come back with you."

The confession came out faster than he had intended. Yet when he had started, he hadn't been able to stop himself, and after, he found himself blushing shamefully as he tried to occupy his attention elsewhere. He could feel Robin watching him, and he didn't want to meet the man's gaze.

Much felt like a fool to even believe such a thought, but there was a greater fear in him that his thoughts were indeed real, rather than imagined. Only that Robin would be too kind to say otherwise.

It was quiet between them for a long while, and finally Much risked a glance up to see what the other was doing. Robin was sitting still where he had been before, but his gaze was empty, staring almost straight down, hands crossed over his chest. Much wet his lips, trying to think of something to say.

"It's just a silly thought, really, I know it is. You know me, I'm always thinking of silly things," he tried to pass off a laugh, to lighten the mood, but the humor did not catch on with Robin.

"No," Robin shook his head, watching him. "If it is something that bothers you, then it is not so foolish. I'm sorry that I've made you feel as though it is."

To this he said nothing. What could he say? Much couldn't help the way he felt, but he hardly could blame Robin for his feelings either. Could he? Sure, there had been times where Robin had been callous in things he had said and done, but he could also remember the other things the man had done, the times were Robin had stood up for him, had been his friend.

He was about to point this out, in an attempt to cheer Robin up, but did not get that far as a voice interrupted the both of them. It was a quiet voice, a faint whisper, one they could barely hear, but they both noticed it none the less. Robin sat up quickly, moving to his feet with some difficultly and Much followed, edging around the rock face and to the back corner, underneath the entrance Robin had used before.

Above he could see the faint flickering of light from another torch, and the shadowed form of the person that had come. Robin called up to see if things were alright and the man answered back in affirmation. Much could not place the voice, nor could he see the man's face. He looked questioningly at Robin.

"Who is that?"

"A friend," Robin answered cautiously. "He wasn't sure if he could make it back here tonight or not. I guess he did."

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

Much was disappointed, but that was very much like Robin. The man gave him a smile, clasping his hand on one shoulder. "When the time comes, you will be the first. You have my promise. But it must be kept quiet for now."

Much nodded, but said nothing else. He took a step back as Robin did, watching the end of the rope come twirling down. There was a loop at the bottom, the rope knotted with itself and Robin worked to get one of his boots inside. Much ended up having to help, Robin unable to use his bandaged hand. Once it was in place though, Robin called back up to the newcomer, before turning back to Much.

"Go back with the others. I'll come back here tonight."

"What if you don't?" Much reached out to grab him by the forearm. Robin had just come back, and now already he was leaving. He knew that Robin had to; but still he didn't like the idea of it.

"I will," Robin was quick to reassure him. "You have my word."

He knew that now. Yet Much was referring to another matter altogether. Robin had been caught once; it could happen again.

"You didn't before; what if they find out? What if you're caught again?" Much took a moment to point this out, watching the man intently to see his response.

"Nothing will happen. They think I'm dead; they won't even be looking for me. I will come back."

The last was stated firmly, and finally Much relented. He hated seeing his master go, but Robin could not stay it seemed, if any of them were to get out of here. Giving him a nod, Much stepped back as Robin was slowly lifted up towards the ceiling. He watched until Robin had made it safely, and the light of the torch disappeared before he finally turned away.

It was time for him to go back, he supposed, and Much knew the following day would be long, and tiring, seeing he had not slept any. That would not be the only reason, he knew, glancing back the way Robin had gone. He would worry until he got a chance to see Robin that night again.

* * *

Nathaniel helped him over the last of the ridge, fingers grasping his forearms and pulling until he was all the way up. The rope was curled, shoved in one corner to await their return, and a moment given for Robin to rest.

He had been relieved to see that the man had come for him tonight. Robin was anxious to see if his plan would work, but in order to do so, he first needed to see things for himself. Ready to move, Robin nodded towards him, a futile move given how dark it was around them. The torch he had brought was small, a faint flicker of light, and Robin guessed that Nathaniel was more worried about being caught than trying to find their way.

"We haven't got much time," came the warning that proved Robin's suspicion. Nathaniel was helping him, but it was easy to tell he did not fully approve. Robin knew the risk was great; they would both be killed if caught, without a doubt, but Rhodri too would pay. Robin hated involving the child, but already they were in too deep to try and change things around.

"We should be going then. You know the way?"

Robin had asked him before, when he had first come down into the mines after leaving Dax. He had been there once himself, to the room that held the oversized waterwheel, and believed he could find it once again if given the time. It would go faster, however, if Nathaniel knew the way for certain. It was why he had asked earlier, hoping that if the man did not know, that he would have taken the time to find out.

In response, Nathaniel simply turned, and led the way. Robin was close behind, more awake now than he had been before due to the rest he had taken in the cave. Still though, he was not well, and that much was apparent due to the ever growing aches and weariness he was feeling . Robin could not remember a time he had felt like this, and had begun to wonder if he would ever recover.

Nathaniel kept up a steady pace, one that was almost too fast, but Robin understood the need for it. The only time they did slow was when they came to the main chamber, where guards normally took watch. Yet Nathaniel had taken the shift that night, and so it was clear. He took care to make sure that no one had come to search for him, and when they were certain all was clear, they crossed through.

It was a few more turns, a couple long tunnels that they traveled, before Robin could hear the first murmurs of falling water. Minutes after, they arrived. It was the first time he had seen the room, and despite Dax's explanation, it was still unexpected. Robin stayed near the entrance as Nathaniel went on in ahead, slightly awed at what was before him. The man turned back around when he realized that Robin wasn't following.

"What is it?"

"This is incredible," Robin was shaking his head, finally able to move once more.

The ground sloped at this point, going downhill. Like in some of the other rooms, small, narrow shafts that bore up to the ground above allowed minimal light in. More light soon followed, and Robin realized that Nathaniel was lighting some torches near the wall.

"Who designed this?"

The waterwheel was enormous, towering over them as it turned steadily. Above it were two more, much smaller versions that turned in opposite directions, and Robin heard, rather than saw, that it was being powered by water itself as Dax had explained to him before. He glanced down quickly as he went further, realizing that he had stepped into water. By the aide of Nathaniel's torch, Robin could see that part of the cavern was flooded. Of course that made sense. This room had been built lower than the others, a sort of cache for all the water in the mines. It eventually ended up here.

"I took years to perfect," Nathaniel answered him finally. "Alfred had some of the best craftsmen in the shire hired for this project alone. Most of them are dead now. The few that live still work for Alfred, to keep it maintained."

"How often does that happen?" Robin wondered, crouching where he stood. A few more steps out, and he was confident the ground would disappear altogether. Just how deep this cave went, Robin could not say. The water near where he stood was motionless for the most part, but he suspected the closer one got to the moving contraption, that the current would become unbearable strong. He watched as the giant arms dipped below the surface, noticing then the hollow buckets that were hanging to the sides. They went in empty, but came out full on the other side. There they trailed up, until they hit a platform, effectively tipping the bucket upside down, and emptying the contents, before swinging loosely back into place, and preparing for the downward trip where it would all begin once again.

"A few times a year, perhaps?" Nathaniel shrugged, crouching near him. "This isn't my line of work, so I honestly don't know. Why?"

Robin didn't answer right away. Instead he stayed where he was, chewing on his bottom lip as he thought. He hadn't realized the enormity of the equipment, and wondered how that would change things, or if it would do so at all. He still felt flooding the caves was his answer. It had to be done, slow enough to allow people time to make it to the surface, but fast enough that they knew there would be no other option than to allow the slaves to do so.

Looking at it here now, Robin was at a loss in how to proceed. Even if he could reach the wheel from here, it would take weeks, if not months, to do some serious damage. And what if Alfred sent workers to check on it during that time? No, it had to be sooner than that, he knew. Destroying it would be out of the question. But what if he needn't destroy it, but rather do something that was simpler. All he needed was for the water to stop being bailed. He focused on the wheel, watching it turn, the buckets disappearing into the water below. Suddenly a thought hit him.

"What are the buckets fastened with?" he asked suddenly.

Nathaniel held up the torch, as if that would help see any better. The man was shaking his head, clearly at a loss. "Looks like rope, maybe. I would guess some bolts of some sort. Why?"

"I think it's rope as well," Robin agreed, barely able to see it from here. But it would make sense. The buckets had to be secure, but not so firmly that they would not be able to swing free, or tilt. Rope would allow that movement, and if that was the case, there might be a chance.

"What are you getting at?" Nathaniel had been patient with him thus far, but the irritation was creeping into his voice. "You said you had a plan."

Until now, Robin had not said anything to him about his thoughts. In fact, he hadn't told anyone aside from Dax, as well as Much, though he hadn't told either of them everything. He hesitated in telling Nathaniel now, unsure if that was wise. It was ironic, he knew, knowing he could full well trust the man.

He had brought him thus far, and Nathaniel had saved his life. Still he questioned it, for he knew of Nathaniel's protectiveness over Rhodri, and wondered what the man would do if he felt the boy in any danger at all. Robin knew that if Nathaniel did not agree to his plan, then he would once again be in trouble.

He had to trust him. Robin came to the decision almost immediately after he started debating it. Nathaniel was one of the few people who were willing to help.

"I do have a plan," he began, turning to face the man. "It's not exactly safe, however."

Nathaniel seemed wary at first, but Robin was surprised to see him nod after a moment. "I never expected it to be. If it was easy, or even safe, to get away from all this, I would have done it long ago."

That much made sense, and Robin nodded, feeling a little relieved. "We need to get the miners above, to the surface."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"Make it so they can't stay down here. If we stop this from working, the caves will flood."

The bluntness of the statement shocked Nathaniel. The man looked as though he had just been slapped.

"You can't," he started at first, but then changed directions, "you'll kill everyone!"

"No," Robin was shaking his head. "We'll get them to the surface."

"Alfred won't allow it."

"He will. Alfred won't do anything to endanger the operations of the mine. The flooding would only be temporary, a few days, a week at the most, before they got things under control again. Replacing a lot of workers, however, is not only costly, but dangerous."

"Alfred won't allow it," Nathaniel repeated, but his argument was weaker this time. "He'll be upset, for sure, but…"

"Even if Alfred won't, you'll have over a hundred men and women down here that will be in a blind panic to try and get out. A handful of guards won't be able to stop them, and most likely won't even try, if they're trying to get out themselves."

It was a gamble. Robin trusted he knew how Alfred thought, how he would react, but the truth was he could always be wrong. His entire plan could come to a disastrous end if what Nathaniel said was true. Alfred could order a few strong men to guard the entrances to the mine, and to shoot down whoever tried to leave. The death and the damages would leave him without a working mine for months, if not years, but it was something the man could possibly do. Robin had thought of all these possibilities before, but in the end, it always came back down to what he felt now. That Alfred would not want to wait.

"Even if it does work," Nathaniel continued after a moment, "even if we do get everyone above ground, what then? Do we just ask Alfred to let everyone go? Expect him to say yes?"

"I'm assuming it won't be that easy," Robin admitted with a small laugh. His voice turned more serious when he spoke next. "We'll have to fight, take control of the manor. We'll have to take Alfred, and most of the guards, I'm sure. Some of the guards will run, and others may even join us."

"Fight?" Nathaniel was shaking his head. "What are you thinking? None of these people here are fighters. Meanwhile, Alfred has hired men who have fought in the war, who won't hesitate to kill, and they have weapons, we do not."

"They have picks, and shovels, and anything else heavy will work," Robin argued, knowing it was a weak point. But what he was about to say, was not. "Not to mention that everyone in this mine is stronger than the guards up there," he pointed briefly above his head.

"They've spent years, breaking their backs, swinging picks, carrying loaded buckets, building up muscles. Meanwhile the guards have eaten their weight in food, and drank themselves into a stupor on a nightly basis. Most of them probably haven't seen a real fight in years. They're here for easy money."

Nathaniel opened his mouth to argue, but found himself unable to say anything. Robin nodded to him, knowing he was thinking over what he had just said.

"It'll be in our favor," Robin continued quietly. "The guards, and Alfred, will underestimate them just as you did. We'll have the element of surprise."

"That won't last long," Nathaniel pointed out. "They're still not fighters. They'll fight where they have to, but they'll run given the first opportunity, and that's when Alfred will get the upper hand."

"Then we have to make sure they don't run," Robin answered. And that was easier said than done, he knew. Nathaniel was right; they were not fighters. Once they got a chance of freedom, they would not stick around and risk being killed. They would simply try and run. Some would make it, he assumed, but most would not. They would either be killed, or taken captive once more.

"How?"

He had asked the one question Robin had hoped he wouldn't. To that he didn't have an answer. He could get the workers to fight at first, for they had nothing to lose, but to stay, long enough to overwhelm Alfred and the guards? Robin shook his head.

"I do not know. I'm still working that much out."

"And what about this?" Nathaniel wondered, waving a hand in front of them, indicating the waterwheel.

"We have to stop it somehow," he started, continuing before Nathaniel could argue. "I can sever the ropes; if the buckets are gone, then the water won't have anywhere to go."

"You can't get close to that thing," Nathaniel argued. "They close the vent above, for a short time, they use a boat, and still it is extremely dangerous. Alfred wasn't responsible for all the craftsmen who've died, just so you know."

"I don't need to get close. I'm a good shot, I can do it from here."

"Can you?" Nathaniel wondered, glancing down, and Robin realized he was looking at his hand. Robin carefully pulled back, glancing down as well. He had forgotten about that, if only for the moment. He had often questioned whether or not he could still shoot, if he would be able to. Grimacing, he closed his fingers into a fist, before glancing up at Nathaniel once more.

"I guess there's only one way to find out."

**TBC**


	39. Hope

**Finally an update, will try to get back into the flow of things. I know it's been a while.**

**No beta, so all mistakes are mine :)**

* * *

**Chapter 39: Hope**

It was the smallest of things, stirring in the back of his mind. The thought that he shouldn't be doing this, that he shouldn't be here. The weight of the uniform was staggering; more so than what he remembered. The chainmail hung over his body, having already been too big to start with, a faint reminder of the ordeal he had been through. The ordeal the others were still going through. That was why he had to do this.

Will reminded himself this as he made his way along the back alley, keeping close to the wall. The sun had long set, casting Nottingham into darkness, the town having drifted off into uneasy sleep some hours ago. Matilda and Rose had done the same. For which Will was grateful. Despite her offering of help, and despite the fact he could benefit from it greatly, Will had decided against it. Had done so without so much as uttering a single word to her. He had waited until she was asleep, and had simply slipped out the door.

The uniform, the weapons, the tools; all of these had been stored outside in an empty barrel in the days prior, all which had been part of their plan to keep them safely hidden. Not just that, but it would also do them a large favor for if they had happened to be found, in no way could it be tied to them. Will had wasted little time in rolling it towards a dark corner, and changing into the disguise.

While he was nearly healed, Will knew he was far from his top condition. Crawling back into the bed that had been offered him sounded like a splendid idea at that moment. And had this been for another cause, Will would guiltily admit that he most likely would have listened. But his fears could not be stilled, no matter what Matilda said.

He had spent the day watching them. It was like she said, as it always had been, that by the time the sun was up, the outlaws were in the stocks. And it was a sight to see. Even after all those days he had spent in the stocks, suffering with the aches, the pain, the stiffness…even he couldn't believe he had looked as wretched as they did now.

Dirty and disheveled they all mirrored one another. Newly, refurbished stockades had been erected by guards sometime during his earlier imprisonment, and now were fully being used. There were enough to house them all now, each one situated to take the full brunt of the sun or rain for a good portion of the day. Each one built to maximize discomfort, and vulnerability. Had they been true criminals, hated by the populace, the end results could have been deadly. There was nothing there to protect them should the peasants decide to try for some sport and entertainment.

Yet Will was grateful to see they were hardly concerned with that. There was too much else to worry about and furthermore he believed the people cared for their predicaments. For all that the outlaws had done for the people of Nottingham and the surrounding shires, they were attempting to return the favor as much as they could and spare them the smallest of agonies. Even Gisborne, Will noticed, was for the most part ignored, despite his doings all the previous years.

The thought was with him now as he carried on. What would he do with Gisborne? His only intentions were to free his friends, to rescue Marian as well. He knew already knew that Marian would not leave the man behind. Will already had guessed that Gisborne would come, but it didn't mean that he trusted the man. Their time together had been forced, and had there been a choice, Gisborne would be standing right alongside the sheriff and Chaffee, sporting the wiry grin he often did when feeling triumphant.

What had changed? Gisborne had been humiliated, no doubt, but it didn't change who he was as a person, didn't right the wrongs he had committed. And Will did not want to associate with him any more than what was necessary. But…he couldn't just leave the man behind, most certainly because he would need all the help he could get to see everyone to safety.

Will paused, just outside the castle now, his heart hammering in his chest. Both from apprehension and the walk, knowing once more he should turn back before it was too late. The thought of the others having to spend another day in the stockades, or another night in the dungeons was enough to get him moving once more. They needed him; this was something he had to do.

* * *

It had taken a few nights before they were ready to try. Robin had lost all of his supplies when he had first been taken captive by Alfred's men. Where his weapons had gone, he hadn't a clue. Part of him assumed they had been destroyed, a thought which disturbed him more than he liked to admit. How routine it had become, the feel of Saracen Sword in his hand, the recurve bow….both he had for a time. He had come to know their strengths, their weaknesses…

Nathaniel had assured him otherwise. Alfred was a greedy man, he wouldn't waste what was potentially of value. That was a far worse case in Robin's mind. If Alfred had intentions of selling his weaponry, then there was little that could be done in retrieving it without raising suspicion. This he pointed out to Nathaniel, but the man hardly seemed bothered, dismissing it without much worry.

For three days, Robin spent his time down in the cave. The constant darkness was unnerving, the heaviness of the air, and the chill that sent a constant shiver through his bones. He had already had a taste of a miner's life, having done his guard duties before being found out, but it was nothing in comparison here. At least then he had been able to feel the warmth of the sun, been able to sleep in his bed at night, fairly content. It was a taste, he realized, of harsh reality faced by all those down here. The same thing Much had gone through all these months, not knowing if he would ever see the light of day again.

And Much…the man came every night he was there. Usually with some spare food, despite the fact that he assured Much he was getting enough to eat. Nathaniel had left him with enough dried meat, bread and water to last. Still Much would not be satisfied until Robin gave in. The first night, Eleri came with him, but the following two it was only Much.

His visits made the nights pass quickly, even though the man would retire halfway through for some much needed rest. Robin would stay up until he left, before bedding down as best he could to sleep.

His wounds were healing, but Robin still felt drained, as though he was empty. He did his best to not focus on the matter, using his spare time instead on formulating a plan, and running it over and over again through his mind, doing his best to make sure there were no mistakes. And when that had exhausted him, his mind turned to other thoughts, wondering how the others were doing back home.

Did they wonder where he was? What were they doing without him there? He hoped they were able to manage, to at least keep the poor fed. As for Marian…she was always on his thoughts, even after all this time. She always would be, a thought he realized dimly. Robin half-wondered if the same would be true for Much.

Robin had not spoken to anyone about what he knew. He did not want to raise false hopes, but yet every time he saw Eleri, he found himself short on words. Much cared for her, more than Robin had seen him care for anyone. What would Much say when he heard? The worry, the guilt was growing inside of him to a point that Robin wondered if he should say anything, or just let things be.

But Eleri…Nathaniel, they did deserve each other. And Rhodri, he deserved to know his mother. Which brought him right back to the beginning. The situation was so confusing, he didn't know what would happen. Or if anything would come of it at all. There was still much that had to be done, and there was no guarantee that any of them would come out of it alive.

The thoughts he pressed aside, hearing the familiar call from above. The rope was dwindling down and Robin caught it shortly after. It was a difficult as it had been the first time, but before long he was climbing over the top ridge with the help of Nathaniel, and to his surprise, Rhodri was there was well. Robin allowed himself a moment of rest before moving along. How much free time they had, he couldn't be certain.

The three of them moved quickly through the tunnels, pausing at crossways to ensure that they were not being followed. Before long, they had come to the room, and Robin found himself crouched at the edge of the water, watching as the giant contraption rotated under its own power. Torchlight flickered behind him, casting odd shadows on the water as Nathaniel and Rhodri worked to ready the supplies.

Tearing his gaze away, Robin turned, watching as Nathaniel unwrapped the heavy cloth on the ground. Rhodri held both torches now, standing to one side. Every so often his eyes would flicker to where Robin crouched, before turning away quickly. It was the first time Robin had seen the boy since he was first taken away from this place. Rhodri had played a key part in his escape, having the horse ready that took him from his imprisonment.

"Will this work?"

Robin turned towards Nathaniel, the man holding out a simple bow. Robin took it clumsily, carefully checking the weapon over. It was a crude bow, no more fit for a child than it would be a warrior. But Robin speculated that it would work. "You have arrows?"

Nathaniel nodded, folding back another part of the cloth. Inside sat nestled roughly a dozen arrows, crude and simple, quite like the bow. Glancing back at the water wheel, Robin counted easily over twenty buckets that plundered away at the water below.

"No more arrows?"

"Not without the risk of being caught," Nathaniel explained. "Rhodri found most of these digging through rubbish heaps. You know the drill; weapons are locked down in the manor, not everyone can just pick up what they want."

Robin knew. He had come with his own weapons, and so needed none that Alfred was willing to provide. Still, he had seen some of the men take weapons, seen the questions asked, the trouble you had to go through. What would they say if Nathaniel came in seeking over two dozen arrows at once?

"I did my best to make sure they were straight," Rhodri piped up, "just like you said."

"They are good," Robin agreed, turning one over in his hands. Perfect? Not quite, but they would suffice. He saw the boy smile, and for a brief moment Robin felt like himself. It was easy to remind himself why he was doing this. Rhodri and his father would live a good life, a life of freedom, if he could pull this off. Yet it led to heartache, the same one that had been eating away at him since the discovery of Eleri.

He couldn't dwell on that, couldn't allow it to make him lose focus. Robin pushed it from his mind, snatching up the first arrow, and lining it in the bow. It was awkward, he could barely move his fingers around the arrow. Twice he dropped it, fumbling to restring it. When he finally had a hold of it, he began to line up his shot, started to pull back…and the arrow dropped.

Robin had set the bow to one side, hand against his chest. His fingers weren't nearly as healed as he hoped, and nowhere near as healed as he needed them to be. He took a few more breaths, cursing himself inwardly. This had to work. Now was not a time for weakness. Robin could feel both Nathaniel and Rhodri watching him.

Shakily he picked up the arrow again, set against the string, and ready himself to fire. Except for this time he changed hands. The feeling was odd, situating the wood of the bow between the space between his thumb and forefinger, the good fingers of his other hand closing around the arrow. It felt wrong, completely backwards…but he reasoned it would work. He could fight just as well with his left hand as he could his right…why could he not do the same with a bow? It should work…it had to work. With a breath, he let go.

The arrow did fly. But it veered off sharply, and fell short of the target. Robin gritted his teeth, reaching down for another arrow. He couldn't afford to mess up like this. They didn't have the arrows, there was no way to possibly retrieve them. Again he restrung the bow, situated himself, and prepared to fire. And yet, the same result happened.

And then a third arrow, and even a fourth. With each arrow he was getting no closer. Robin could feel his heart pounding, his body not used this sort of exertion, still too focused on simply healing. Slowly he could feel the hope dwindling. This could work, this had to work. But he was in no state to see it through, not now. He would have to wait, but with each passing day, the chance of being discovered grew. How long could he hide down here? How long could Nathaniel see to it that he was safe? And when he was found out, not if, but when, what then would happen to Nathaniel, to Rhodri?

They were down to eight arrows, and Robin grabbed another, still not willing to give in just yet. He had the arrow strung, was about to pull back, when a hand touched his shoulder. Robin turned to meet Nathaniel's gaze; the man was shaking his head.

"You tried; it's no use. I suppose it was folly to believe it was possible."

Robin swallowed, shaking his head, but he couldn't bring himself to argue. He knew as well that it was a foolish thought. The position was just too odd, the strain too much. If he was healed, it would be different. But the damage done to him was apparent. It was a foolish idea. And worse yet, he had gotten Nathaniel's hopes up, had gotten Rhodri involved…

Robin met the boy's gaze, could see the worry in them. He had gotten the boy too far involved, ever since he had first met him, had started to humor him, and started to teach him….

"Rhodri, come here," Robin barely realized he had said the words. The thought was playing in his mind, provoking him. It just had to work.

The boy exchanged a worrisome glance with his father, but when Nathaniel nodded, Rhodri wasted no time in passing along the torches, and moving to where Robin stood. Robin held up the bow, raising an eyebrow in question. For a moment Rhodri just stood there, then slowly took the weapon.

"Stand here," Robin scooted back a little, so that Rhodri would be standing right on the edge. Like so many times before, the boy readied an arrow, but then turned back to Robin. Sensing his question, Robin pointed out over the water.

"Aim straight, don't try to follow them," Robin gave the simple advice. He adjusted Rhodri's stance, leveling him some more. The boy had done well in practice, had learned quickly. Robin could only hope it was enough as he waited for the right moment. "Now."

The arrow flew through the cave, further and straighter than Robin's had. For a long, few seconds they waited with bated breath, and then the resounding smack could be heard. They had hit wood, not water, and Robin could hear the excitement in the voices surrounding them. Still, the arrow had hit low, just as the wheel dipped into the water. They would not know if their aim had been true until it came back up on the other side.

Robin counted the seconds as they passed, seeing one bucket after another coming up. It seemed like they may have missed the rope, the thin thread that kept the bucket in place. Even if they could hit the wheel, it would do no good if they failed to sever the ropes. Then there it was. After a line of buckets, there was what appeared to be a hole. The bucket was still attached, but only to one side, flopping around like a fish out of water. As it was rotated over the top, and around, it missed the chute completely, and the water fell back into the pool below.

"I did it!" Rhodri exclaimed, biting his tongue as his voice echoed around the cavern. The three waited, listening to see if they had given themselves away, but when all was quiet they let out a nervous laughter. Robin gave the boy a small hug, and indicated to another arrow. Seven were left, and they had to make every shot count.

* * *

She hadn't said much of anything since Will had disappeared. Not even with the rumors of his escape. The others were elated, grateful the man had escaped whatever ill had been planned for him. And as hopeful as she always had been, Djaq couldn't help but think it was a ploy to fool them. To give them false hope, only to break their spirits later on.

The days were remotely the same, as soon the morning light hit, they would taken from their cells, displayed to the public for the day, and taken back down. By now, their skin had burned time and time again, save for the occasional break when the clouds moved in. Then normally it was a steady rain that left you shivering. The food they had been given was hardly enough to sustain anyone, let alone to keep them healthy. Djaq figured this was the point; they would be die without having to be executed.

Why the sheriff and Chaffee did not just kill them off was a mystery to her. Will had spoken of it briefly to her, before his disappearance. That it was about honor, or nobility, something like that. The people would honor them more if they were simply killed, but to wear them down, a little at a time…would they be any more forgotten this way?

Djaq could not answer that. Had given up trying a long time ago. She sat with her head resting on her knees, knowing that she should be sleeping, but unable to rest. Hardly any of them could sleep anymore. They rarely spoke to one another know; in all honesty there wasn't much to talk about, and it was tiresome pretending all was fine when in reality it was far from it. So she kept to herself, allowed her thoughts to occupy her mind, even if they weren't uplifting.

Above, she could hear the door open, and the small spike of fear could be felt shooting through her. It couldn't be time already. It was too soon. Did the sheriff and the new master-at-arms decide to thrust them out in the chill of the early morning? Or had they come up with something new?

She caught Marian's eye, seeing the same question in her eyes as well. No one came down here at this time. Djaq hadn't realized how much she relished this until now. This was the only time she felt truly safe, locked away behind the bars in the midst of the night. Here no one could harm her, not until the dawning of a new day brought the guards, and introduced them to the hellish day. Yet here they were, coming now.

But something was different, very different. Normally there was a swarm of guards, at least two for every one of them. A joke as it was, they had not the strength to fight back. That had been sapped out of them long ago, and even still they had not the chance to recover. But listening now, the footsteps echoed, were timid, almost hesitant.

She could see the guard now, only one guard enter into the chamber. He didn't even carry with him a torch, the oddity of the situation throwing her off. Why had he come here? She felt the hand on her arm, Marian giving her a squeeze, either to warn her, or give her comfort. Djaq didn't bother to question, her gaze still intent on the guard that was wandering closer. There was something strangely familiar about him, but she couldn't place what it was in her mind.

He stood, just at the entrance, glancing around warily. As though he was expecting someone else to be down here. When he seemed satisfied, he began to move again, coming closer. It was then she suddenly realized, but was too afraid to hope for it to be true. Still she had to know, and found herself moving to her feet, pressing against the bars.

"Is it you?"

"I would have come sooner," Will admitted, his voice quiet as he came near them.

She could help the tears, couldn't help reaching out to him. Near her Marian was pressed against the bars, reaching out to him as well. He took both of their hands briefly, an awkward embrace. Even from the touch Djaq could feel his clammy skin, could tell that not all was well. But he was here, he was alive. It was more than she could have ever hoped for.

"Will?"

The others were now aware it was him, having heard his voice despite his soft whispering. He glanced towards them, nodding to them, indicating he would be there in a moment. He turned his attention back to her.

"I don't think we have much time," he confessed, digging into the folds of the uniform he donned. Slowly he worked free the length of wood, already molded into a crude fashion of a key. With careful movements he slid it into the lock, trying to work it in.

"To big," he shook his head, pulling it free. Even in the dark, she could see his hands shaking as he pulled free a small knife, working to shave the wood even further down. As much as he she wanted to encourage him to hurry, she bit her tongue. How prepared Will was, she could not say. If this was the only bit of wood he had, they could afford no mistakes.

"What about the Jailer's keys?" Marian asked the question that had been lingering in the back of her mind. It had occurred only briefly, but she hadn't pressed it, simply glad to see that Will was indeed alive.

"I don't…I don't think that's an option," Will answered timidly, slipping the key back into the lock. "Almost there."

Djaq still had a hand resting on his arm, afraid almost that if she let him go, she would lose him once more. She had a feeling to what he meant by that, could feel it in the way he trembled, the unnatural heat from his skin. Will was far from okay, and that frightened her. What damage was he potentially hiding? And if he could not stand against a fight, if none of them could, what chance did they have of truly escaping? Was all of this folly?

"You can speed it up a little," Allan called out from the other side. The others were quick in hushing him, but Will still turned to stare at him. The sheepishly apology followed, and it gave her a cause to smile. It was almost like old times…almost.

They all heard it at the same time, the scraping of the door. It echoed easily through the room, and caused all of them to freeze where they stood. Then as the footsteps started to descend, Will went hastily back to his work. If Djaq thought he was shaking before, it was nothing compared to now. Twice he dropped the key, fumbling to pick it back up.

"Will, you have to get out of here," Marian was the first to voice the truth. Djaq nodded vigorously in agreement. He would do no help if he was caught, and most likely would bear the brunt of punishment. There was the slight fear he may even be killed. No doubt the sheriff was humiliated by his escape, what then would he do to have the man back within his grasp?

"It's almost done," he whispered breathlessly, sliding the key back into the lock. For a brief moment, she could almost hear the mechanism move, but perhaps it was just her imagination. He tried to move it, to push it in, to pull out it, but it wouldn't budge.

"It's stuck," he shook his head, disbelief flooding his voice. All the while the footsteps were gaining. They were picking up in speed, almost seemingly realizing that something was amiss.

"Will, go!" Marian whispered, giving him a push. It barely fazed him, and he worked to free the key from the lock. Djaq could see the first bit of light starting to flood the dungeons, and she knew it would be a matter of seconds before they had company. As much as she hated to see him go, she knew there was no other choice.

"Will, you must go, now!"

"I got it!" The key slid free and he hastily notched off the last bit of wood that had prevented it from working the last time. A few more rounded edges and surely it would work, it had to work…

But they were too late, they were out of time. No longer were they alone, the torch burning so bright it almost hurt to look that way. The scrapping of a sword being drawn was heard, and Djaq realized dimly it was Will, preparing for a fight. But the truth of the matter was that Will was in no condition to fight, and there was no one to help him, and there was nowhere for him to run.

**TBC**


	40. Freedom

**So sorry about the long wait. RL has been busy and hasn't allowed much time for writing. I am still working on a number of stories, so please be patient with me as I try and get them out. And many thanks to those of you still reading and leaving comments. It is my inspiration to keep writing!  
**

* * *

**Chapter 40: Freedom**

Slowly the light filled the area around him, and Will blinked uneasily, one hand gripping his sword. Djaq's grip on his arm only tightened, and the others had fallen silent, perhaps as frightened as he was. The man that had entered hadn't been very tall, and he raised the torch above his head, squinting in the darkness.

"Oi, what you doing there? It's not sunup yet."

Will recognized the voice instantly, recalling from the numerous days he had spent down here with the others. The jailer took a few more steps towards him, obviously thrown off by his appearance. Of course, Will realized, the jailer assumed he truly was a guard. As long as the man didn't get a good look at him, and he disguised his voice…

"Chaffee wanted…a check…yes, a check on the prisoners," Will managed to get out, lowering his voice into a gruff tone that he prayed would not be recognized.

"One of them," the jailer huffed, shuffling even closer. Djaq had let go of his arm, had melded back against the wall, pretending to not even be interested in what was taking part. Will stepped away from the cell as the other approached, now only an arm's length away. He scrutinized Will closely, taking him in with one good eye.

"Always doin' the way he wants," the jailer finally spout, shaking his head. "I take orders from the sheriff, not some French ninny. These prisoners are under my watch, they need no checking."

"Of course," Will agreed quickly, thinking quickly to come up with another plan. He could leave now, give it some time for the jailer to leave, and try again. But where would he go? He could not afford to wander the castle halls for fear of running into someone more competent, and though he could try and hide, if he was to be discovered, Will knew in his heart he would not be able to escape.

But the jailer, who had yet to even question why Will had his sword drawn, might not be that much of a fight. And if they were alone…he glanced back up the stairwell, straining to see if anything might be hiding in the darkness. The jailer was still glaring through the cell at the two women when Will turned back, and he swallowed, prepared to raise his sword…and stopped as the man turned to face him once more.

"You still here? Thought you were leaving."

She moved before he could respond. The jailer had moved close the cell, and his moment of inattention was all that was needed. Marian seized the opportunity, reaching through the bars and wrapping her arms about the man's throat. She may not have been as strong as she was before her imprisonment, but Will couldn't help but cringe at the sound of his body being slammed against the metal behind him.

There was mostly shock and surprise on the man's face. He had dropped the torch, both hands grabbing at Marian wildly in attempt to free himself. Marian would not relent, gritting her teeth instead as she yelled.

"Now Will!"

He didn't need a second invitation. With what strength he could muster, Will brought the butt of the sword down, landing a solid blow to the man's skull. It took only one hit, the man slumping and finally falling forward when Marian released her hold. He let out a nervous laugh, meeting Marian's gaze and smiling back at Djaq's expression. That had gone better than he anticipated.

"You know, we'd all like to laugh, but let's get out of here first," Allan promptly reminded him from the other cell.

"Right," Will bent down, fumbling among the jailer's belt. They had to be there somewhere…he smiled as his hands closed around the set of keys. These would work much easier than his attempts earlier. It took only a couple of tries before he found the correct one, the cell opening with ease.

A moment later he found Djaq in his arms, relishing in the contact as they embraced. Marian simply squeezed his shoulder, taking the keys from his grasp as she went to free the men. A moment later, they stood around him, free for the first time in what felt like ages. But now was not a time for celebration, he knew. Slowly he pulled away from Djaq, glancing at the others. They were all watching him expectedly, Gisborne included, and he realized just then, they were waiting for him to take the lead.

"We need to keep moving," was the only thing he could say. Of course they did not plan to remain down here…but how would they proceed? He was the only one that was armed; they could not afford to run into any trouble, yet they would be the most wanted faces in all of Nottingham. What was it that Chaffee had promised for his capture? Food, safety…a few of the necessities they should be receiving without question. What would Robin do in this situation? What would the man say?

"To the forest," John filled the silence, giving him direction that sounded almost like a friendly suggestion.

"To the forest," Will nodded, but with a heavy heart. What would they do once they got there?

* * *

Rhodri had made seven of the eight shots; with all of their arrows depleted, they had no choice but leave. Robin returned to the cave, doing his best to keep his mind occupied with thoughts other than the guilt obtained by his knowledge. Much came when he could, as he always did, but it was still two long days before Nathaniel came back for him.

The evidence of their doings could already be seen. The water had lapped over the edge of the ledge they stood on last time, splashing around their ankles as waded in. The effect was enough to encourage them, and Rhodri once again took up the bow.

Together, the boy and his father had collected close to another dozen arrows. Some of these were in even worse shape than the ones before, and Robin had his worries to how well they would work. They started with the straightest of arrows, and made some sound hits. Rhodri was improving in his aim with each attempt, coming to the point where he no longer waited for Robin's command to release the arrow.

Twice he missed, but in the end, they had seen another eight buckets fall. The large contraption appeared to be working at half its capability now, more and more water sloshing and swirling around the base and the wheel jerked unsteadily. It creaked, still moving, but at a slow and unsteady pace. Robin watched from where he knelt, studying the crease in the ceiling above the wheel. The flow of the water was strong still, which indicated a heavy current, a river swollen by rains. That would work in their favor.

"We're done here," Robin announced, turning to Nathaniel. "Tell Dax we're ready."

* * *

The sensation of being free was overwhelming. Indescribable. He had been in there for so long, had thought it was never going to end…well, he had assumed it would end, but in death. And yet, here he was, free as a lark, if only he could fly…

"Alan!"

He let out a mild protest as the back of his collar was grabbed, and he was yanked forcibly back. The breath left him as he stumbled into the wall, turning an irritating glare behind him.

"What was that for?"

"You have to be more careful," Marian hissed at him, though it was Little John who had grabbed him. And not a moment too soon. A patrol of guards wandered by, though by their intoxicated state it would have been a miracle for them to have been any sort of real threat.

"Been in there so long I guess I just…" he pressed a hand to his forehead, an innocent smile to suggest he hadn't been thinking. But it faded when he saw the frowns of the others, and he knew himself he had been lucky. They may be out of the cell, but they weren't out of Nottingham.

"Now," Will took the lead, head down and running quickly across the open space. Little John, Marian and the others followed, Alan taking up the rear. Well, almost the rear. He was noticing just now that Gisborne was still behind him. He wondered if the others noticed, and was going to bring up the subject as he reached the shadows but thought better of it. After all, Gisborne was much an outlaw as they were now. He had no friends among the authority, and would be in the same situation if they were discovered.

"How long do you think we have?" It was Djaq who asked the question. Alan wasn't sure if she meant before they were caught again, or if she meant before the guards discovered their escape.

"Morning," Will suggested loosely. And it seemed likely. As of late, no one had bothered them during the night. After all, where were they going to go?

They were moving again, running among the shadows, but they took it slowly. Part of the reason was the fear of being caught. But the other was the simple fact that one of them was not doing so well.

"You are hurt," Djaq spoke quietly. All their voices had been whispers. The night here was so quiet that even that seemed too loud.

Will seemed as though he was going to protest at first, to lie and say he wasn't, but thought better of it. He nodded, but forced a thin smile. "I'll be okay; once we reach the camp…"

He trailed off, not finishing the thought. Alan could surmise well enough. They were all pretty bad off, and if they could reach the camp, they could get their strength back. But what then, after that? Robin was obviously a goner; Alan hated to think it, knowing he sounded heartless, but he couldn't help feel that the others were thinking it as well. Robin should have just forgotten about Much.

After all, what was the man going to do? Scour all of England to find him? Alan could remember back to when Djaq had been taken captive by the sheriff. He could remember how Robin had chosen not to go in and save her. What had Robin said? Just one man? Was that not what Much simply was?

Yes, he was bitter. He couldn't help but feel that this, all of this, was Robin's fault. If only a little. The man could have been here, could have warned them that they were walking into a trap. Maybe he could have even spared them from all the humiliation they had suffered. Instead the man had gone gallivanting through the woods, and who knows where else, to save one person.

Alan had come to think that once they were out of this, this mess, he would move on. Surely there was easier plunder elsewhere, and when he truly thought about it, what use was there in trying to stay? It would be too difficult to tell who was friend and who was not so friendly. How long would it be before they were once again turned over to the sheriff, and his new friend, Chaffee?

"Alan!"

Not quite a yell, but certainly an impatient huff. The others had gone on without him, all the while he had been daydreaming. Alan glance across the empty street, making sure it was abandoned, and then crossed after the others. Strangely, Gisborne was ahead of him, molded perfectly in the group. If the others saw him, they had the same thought he did. Gisborne was on their side. At least for now…

* * *

"Two nights."

That was what he had been told. Two nights was too long, and Robin tried to argue that point. But all Nathaniel could do was shrug his shoulders.

"Dax can't get away; it'll ruin everything we've worked for if he's caught."

A true point, that, but Robin was worried the plan would go foul if they waited. He could remember seeing the wheel groan and jerk, on how the water was already rising. If someone was to wander in and see…

"Not to mention that will give you time-"

"Time to do what?"

"To warn the others," Nathaniel finished, mild irritation in his voice to the fact Robin had cut him off. "Get everyone ready."

"Not now," Robin shook his head. Two days…and that did not bring into effect on how long it would take before the real action started. Who knew how fast the water would rise once Dax managed to jam the gate open?

He knew the rivers were swollen, the rain had seen to that, so he could easily guess the chamber would fill quickly. But the room was also large, and that could take quite some time before it started filling the halls. And if someone managed to see it before then, they could easily close the gate all the way, cutting off the supply.

"You going to wait until they're swimming before you say something?"

Robin gave him a sideways glance. They were just at the edge of the cave where he had spent the last week hiding. They had roughly an hour before the first call of the day would come, and Nathaniel would be expected. Rhodri had gone up with his father the first time, had gone off to sleep while Nathaniel just happened to run across Dax. Soon after, he had returned, and found Robin still waiting for him at the top. He, of course, had not been amused.

Robin knew it wasn't the wisest of decisions. But he also was not eager at the prospect of spending another long day down in the cave. He hated being trapped, but he hated being alone more. Down there, there was nothing to keep him company except his thoughts, and most of them were not comforting.

There was worry about the coming day, now it seemed a couple of days. Could it be done? Was it going to be like Nathaniel said, that it would end in nothing but disaster? He tried to reassure himself, that it was the only way, but each attempt to do so ended up in failure. And then his mind would wander to other matters, more painful matters…

"There's no reason to get them talking this early," Robin finally answered him. He could remember Much telling him that a good number of the miners would fight. But why worry them, get them worked up into a frenzy? Worst of all, what if the whispers were overheard by the guards? Robin did not want to take what little hope they had and see it get crushed due to a slip of tongue.

"I just hope you don't wait too long," Nathaniel advised him. "You have enough food? Water?"

He nodded absentmindedly. He had, he suspected, more food and water than the measly portions the miners received. Between Nathaniel, and Much, Robin had gathered quite a store. Near him he could hear the other man exhale.

"You should go, before…"

"Talk to Dax again," Robin pressed. He did not like the idea of spending another two days down in this pit. "Convince him-"

"I already tried."

"Keep trying."

Nathaniel said nothing, only shook his head and then shrugged his shoulders. "You know that won't do any good."

"Just try."

The man seemed convinced with that. Robin doubted it would help, but with any luck, just maybe…

He grabbed the rope, tossing it over one side, and slowly began his descent down. He still did not have the kind of strength he wanted in his hand. That was another worry that always was with him, hiding in the back of his mind. And in times like this, when he had nothing to do but think, it would fight its way forward.

The pain wasn't there so much, as long as he didn't try and overexert it. He couldn't fire a bow, that was for certain, and that left another fear in his mind. Could he handle a sword? Robin knew he could take a sword in his weak hand, he had practiced to be able to do so. But he also knew he could not rely on that alone. He would tire, and quickly, especially in the state he was in now.

More worries, more fears. And he had, it seemed, a few more days to brew over what the possible answers would be.

* * *

They had managed to escape just before dawn. The morning light was beginning to fill the sky, casting away the dark grey undertones and bringing warmth into the day. They had found supplies in an abandoned stall, had managed to coil a length of rope around a crude hook, and then had climbed the walls in the growing light. It was risky, but necessary. They could not wait and hope to sneak out in daylight. If it was before Chaffee had come, then maybe.

Then, even though numbers had dwindle before the King had set off to war, and the new sheriff had taken over, there were still merchants and traders that had traveled through the gates. It would have been easy to done some cloaks, and pass through with heads down and into the open forest beyond without so much as a second glance from the guards.

But their time in the stockades had given them enough chance to see that no longer happened. Yes, a merchant or two would wander in, but it was rare to see more than that. And stopped they would be if they had tried, and they would have found themselves dead, or back in Chaffee's grasp with a more menacing punishment, no doubt, than the treatment they had previously received. So it was the wall they had climbed.

Gisborne had been impressed. He knew the outlaws had their tricks, and he suspected they had always had help on the inside although even to this point he liked to deny that Marian had been involved. But this…watching them work together, of melding in the shadows, sneaking around guards, and scaling the walls…he was impressed. And he couldn't help admit that he was a little…inspired.

Being the Master-at-Arms, or at least the former Master-at-Arms, required crude discipline, a heavy fist, and no mercy. You demanded authority…and yet, here, it seemed the opposite. He watched as the others trusted Will without question. If there was a moment of indecision, a slight argument, all would vouch in their own voices to what they thought the best idea was, and all without second thought. There was no reprimanding, no threats. And they watched each other, backed them up, made sure they were all safe…Gisborne could not say the same about any of his guards.

He remembered the time he had been caught by Robin. On the King's birthday, on the day he had announced his proposed marriage to Marian. Robin had intervened, had made a fool of him, had stolen the ring. And the knowledge of his secret. He hadn't known yet that Robin discovered the truth. The only thought that crossed his mind as he tore his sleeve free that Robin's look of surprise was due to the fact he had broken free of his confines, and that the Sheriff's men were on the way.

Gisborne had followed him to the woods, and could remember, with now growing bitterness, not that not a single guard had followed. No one had come to see what was keeping him, or if he was even alive. He was not friends with any of them, and by all means he was lucky if he could he even remember their names on occasion, but the knowledge he had been simply left to the outlaw's mercy was bitter knowledge. And yet that hardly mattered now, he suspected, for he was much an outlaw as they were.

It felt strange, running through the woods. The morning are was crisp, cool, the sun starting to filter through the leaves. Gisborne kept turning around, feeling as though the shadows were following him. Above, birds chirped idly, and the faintest of winds ruffled the leaves and shook the branches making them creak. It must have rained not too long ago, the soil soft and the smell of dirt wafting in the air.

For a while they moved at a heavy pace. Not quite a run but most certainly not a walk. They scattered, still keeping everyone in sight, but at a distance one would have to yell to be heard. Gisborne kept to the left, staying closer to Marian, more by subconscious thought than any real planning. He noted dully that she seemed to know these woods well. Very well.

The further they got in, the slower they became. And the closer they drew. Before long they were all clustered into one group, heavy breaths filling the air. The morning chill was gone now, the day warming and the bright light above beating down on their heads as they entered a clearing. It was here they stopped, and it took him a moment, but Gisborne finally realized they were all looking at him.

"What?" He couldn't help the irritated gruff out of his voice, but it was better than the uneasy fear he felt now. It was as though the others were poised, ready for attack. If they attacked, he might hold one or two off, but he would be foolish to think he would win against four of them, especially seeing that one was armed. Marian of course would not attack…

"We can't let him come," Alan stated briefly, glancing between the group.

Come where? Gisborne thought, and almost said, but he knew already. The outlaw's camp. Even now he had no idea where it lay. There were a number of thoughts that crossed his mind then. The first was the knowledge that he could bring this back to the sheriff to gain favor. But that was only fleeting because Gisborne doubted it would. The second was that he did not want to stay out here by himself. The third was that some decent food, a warm fire and somewhere to sleep other than in a cell with rats sounded quite inviting.

"We can't just leave him," Marian protested. She actually protested, as though she was one of…them. He shook his head. It couldn't be…

"How do we know he won't go saying something?" Alan spoke again.

"We don't," Will shook his head.

"He does not come," John agreed, and Gisborne could see his fate starting to fall into place. While he might not be in the good graces of the sheriff anymore, he certainly had not gained favor with the outlaws.

"Then neither do I," Marian stepped up beside him, taking one arm. It was a bit of comfort, and he laced his fingers about hers.

Will seemed to hesitate, seemed to want to argue, then he nodded. "If you need help…"

"We'll be fine," Gisborne cut him off, finally finding his voice. He felt more sure now, now that Marian was by his side. His earlier idea returned, of the pair of them traveling off, to continue their lives elsewhere. They had no need to stay here, they no need to accept the help of the others.

"We need," Marian started, but shook her head. "We'll be okay."

He noticed she was watching Will, that the two were locking eyes, something unseen being said between him. His grip tightened, a moment of jealousy, but that passed quickly. Whatever feelings Marian had for him were nothing more than a minor nuisance. Marian felt for everyone.

They watched as the others scrambled away, disappearing through the trees. Before long they could no longer be seen, and Gisborne turned to look at Marian. They were both dirty, hungry, tired and they had nothing on them save for the clothes on their backs. But they were free.

"So, where do we go?"

**TBC**

**TBC**


	41. Flood

Many thanks to all those who reviewed and for still sticking with me! This chapter was a tough one to write, so let me know your thoughts. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 41: Flood**

They cry at first was muffled, more like a whisper, then again, more persistent. Like the buzzing of a bee. He did his best to ignore it, still clinging to the very fringes of the dream that had encompassed him. There was nothing significant about the dream itself, and in fact, once he woke, there was little chance he would even remember what it was about. Still, it was pleasant, inviting. And he so needed the rest…

Again the call came, and he could feel himself becoming conscious. He was more aware now, but stuck somewhere between his slumber and the waking world. Something wasn't right, and he knew he should be on his guard. He had been a crusader for five long years. He had killed more men than he could remember, more men than he even dared to try and count. And he had survived only due to his alertness, his keen sense for when trouble was brewing. For when something wasn't right. And something wasn't right. But what?

He was stretched out on the floor, the darkness greeting him as he opened his eyes. His body was sore, the normal soreness accumulated from staying in one position for too long. It meant he had slept heavily, that the weariness of his body had finally caught up with him. There were other aches, other pains, ones due to recent injuries, but they all seemed to mingle together at the moment.

Robin forgot about all of that at the pressing moment, staring out ahead in the darkness, doing little more than trying to listen. Something had woken him. Something was telling him that things were not right. And that was a sense he had long ago learned to listen to. Then it came again. Someone was calling his name. And he knew to whom the voice belonged.

He was to his feet in an instance. Almost too quickly, he feared, feeling the ground shift beneath him. He had one hand against the wall, leaning to his right. He knew he had some room to stagger, but he also knew about the sharp drop-off that waited for him just few steps to his left. If he was going to fall, like he feared he might, then he would rather fall into the wall.

But Robin regained his balance, and made his way quickly over to the end of the ledge. The panic was real in the man's voice, and Robin had a bad feeling about what he was to say. For Nathaniel to stand above and nearly yell his name, things could not be good.

The rope was already down, waiting for him, and no sooner had Robin grabbed on, he was being pulled up.

"He got it open," Nathaniel was talking quickly, but most of what he said was being lost. Robin reached the topped, pulled himself up with Nathaniel's help, and wanted to pause for a moment of rest, but could not. Nathaniel was already ahead of him, and Robin moved quickly to follow.

"Has it been two days already?" Robin could not imagine he had slept for that long. He had been tired, yes, but he was always tired as of late. He shook his head, trying to catch onto the words Nathaniel was speaking. But it was difficult. The man was talking so quickly, all the words jumbled together and Robin was having difficulty sorting them. Finally he grabbed Nathaniel by the shoulders, stopping the man.

"What has happened?"

"He was early," Nathaniel explained, and as much as Robin could tell the 'he' was supposed to be Dax. "But he didn't tell me, not until just a few moments ago. We have to go, we don't have much time."

"What do you mean?"

Robin had wanted an explanation, but stopped then. It was only until now that Robin realized he was having difficulty hearing Nathaniel. He had expected it because he had only just woken. That it was because Nathaniel was speaking too quickly. But that wasn't the case at all. There were sounds, new sounds he had not heard before. Drowning out the silence around them. Almost like…

"How fast?" Robin only now realized that the distant roar was that of the mines being flooded. That was the reason for Nathaniel's urgency, for his panic.

"Too fast," the other shook his head. "It was fine, but then…"

"What?"

"Cave-in," Nathaniel explained.

"How many?" Robin felt his heart drop. This was not what he had planned. But the mines were old, he realized. The supports were brittle and weak. Most likely ready to fall apart at the faintest push. And they had unwittingly provided that push. Now not only did they have to contend with the rising waters, but now there may be some miners who were trapped.

"None, so far. But it collapsed near the surface. The water's bypassing the room altogether. It's coming straight into the tunnels."

Which meant it was flooding faster than they had anticipated. Robin's worries of the flooding being stopped before it got far enough along were now banished. Now a near fear replaced it, and that was the accusation that had been thrown at him when he first suggested it. Everyone was going to drown.

"The guards are trying to hold everyone back, but they're starting to panic."

Robin nodded, and another new worry encompassed him. They had not any time to prepare anyone. Only a few knew of what his intentions were. Most did not, as Robin had not wanted the plan prematurely foiled. Now it would be ran by blind panic, unless some sort of control could be established, and even then they probably would not listen. Most people did not listen to reason when their lives were at stake.

"We need to get them out of here."

Robin knew that men and women were likely to corner themselves. And then they would die, drowning in the very mines that would serve as their graves. The thought was not pleasant, and now he was beginning to hate himself for the idea in the first place. Why had he not thought of the consequences?

"How long do we have?"

"Not long," Nathaniel confirmed. "More tunnels are likely to collapse," he warned as well. "The one that did was old, unmaintained. The rest might hold, but…"

"We can't count on it," Robin understood what he was saying. If the rising waters did not kill them, then the falling rocks would. Or worse, trap them in a position where they would have nothing to do but wait to drown.

They were moving quickly now, back to the central shaft near the main entrance. There were guards clustered around, and Robin could hear the growing anxiety of the miners. Their voices could be heard from here, calling for help and pleading to be let out despite the warnings of beatings if they did not silent. Robin doubted they would be listened to; the guards themselves were shuffling worriedly, water already lining the tunnels. There was hardly any water there now, but Nathaniel had said it had been dry only moments before.

No one questioned him as they arrived into the fray. Either they did not notice his sudden arrival, or they simply assumed everyone here was a guard, sent down to hold off a panic. Robin could see Nathaniel grip his sword, preparing to pull it out, but Robin grasped his wrist, quietly signaling for him to wait. If they got into a fight now, they would never have any chance.

"We'll go check on the prisoners," Robin mustered an excuse, trying to disguise his voice in case anyone here would remember him. By all means, Nathaniel and Dax had faked his death, and if anyone did recognize him it would cause alarm. But once again, no one seemed to pay him any real heed. They were gazing down the dimly lit tunnels, watching as the water continued to flow.

Robin could feel the current, faint as it was, but the water was rising. He moved down the tunnel to the caves where the miners were, Nathaniel on his heels. The water splashed around their boots as they continued, muddy in some spots.

When they reached the caves, Robin could see the different groups huddled together. Most were voicing their own opinions, worry evident in their tones as the water started to lap over the edge, dribbling onto the floor of the cave they called their home.

"What's the meaning of this?" One of the guards stopped them, his face angry and eyes narrow. Behind the glare, however, his voice was thin, taunt. He was afraid. And rightly so. Robin figured he had been ordered to stay here, to keep the slaves calm. And no doubt he feared he would be in danger if he lingered for much longer.

"Alfred wanted us to check on everything," Robin responded, his eyes quickly sweeping over the area. There were six groups, no more than a dozen and a half in each. He figured roughly a hundred, maybe a little less. Together they could make a crude army; there were certainly more workers than guards. There were five guards near the entrance in the main shaft. Another twelve down here. Probably twice as many up top, and no doubt there would be more gathering arms just in case things went south.

Robin found Much in one of the group, their gazes locking. Much had recognized his voice, even though Robin had not been very loud. He gave the man a single nod, hoping he would catch on. Then he turned back to the guard who had first spoken. The man was barely paying any heed, instead his gaze fixed on the tunnel ahead, watching as more water was starting to pool around their feet.

"Have they started to bail yet?" he worried, shifting nervously. "Maybe we should bar the entrance…get out of here while we can-"

It was as far as he got. Robin had intended on trying to bluff their way out, but the mere mentioning of barricading the way to trap the workers down here was too much. He moved quickly, grabbing the man by the arm and twisting. His other hand grasped clumsily around the hilt of the guard's sword, grimacing at the pain as he willed his fingers to follow the command. He could not falter like he had with the bow, for there was only once chance here.

"What the?" But that was all the man said, the sword free and crashing down, hilt first against the back of his head. Near him, Nathaniel had moved, finally drawing his sword free, clenching it tightly. Robin switched hands, shaking his newly freed hand as if he could shake away the sudden pain, taking a step closer to Nathaniel.

Most of the other guards stood bewildered, like many of the slaves, unsure of what to do. But the rest pulled their blades, an angry snarl on their faces as they approached. Robin and Nathaniel held their ground as they drew closer, and that was when Much and Eleri moved. He was impressed, watching them work together without speaking a word, and in a few short moments, another guard lay on the ground. It was then everything broke free.

The once confined groups began running, ignoring the shouts of their guards and pushing towards the entrance. Most of the guards stepped away quickly, but the few who tried to stop them were pushed aside, an even unluckier few caught in the fray and knocked to their feet. Robin and Nathaniel were moving quickly too, away from the entrance as the first of the miners reached the tunnel. The progress slowed here due to the narrow opening, but only briefly for they were still pushing and shoving, each trying to be the first that led the maddening rush.

"Go with the others," Robin shouted towards Nathaniel, knowing in his mind they needed someone up top. The guards who were crowded around the main shaft would prove of little worry. Part of him hoped they had already abandoned the tunnels for the fresh air above. Whatever the case, it would not be long before the first of the miners breached the surface, and that was when things would get dangerously out of hand. How far would Alfred go to keep the miners contained? Would he kill? Robin was certain he would, and part of him worried the tally would be high. It all depended on how desperate Alfred was. But if they could get some sort of fight going, then the number of them would surely overwhelm the guards…

"Robin!" Much was shouting at him, and not a moment too soon. Robin narrowly avoided the incoming blow, ducking as the sword came at him. He stepped to one side, bringing his arm back, catching the man with his elbow. The guard fell quickly, stunned, and Robin kicked the weapon from his grasp.

"I suggest if you want to live you find your way out of here," he snapped harshly. The guard seemed to hesitate, but then realized Robin had spoken the truth. The water was still rising, leveling about their ankles now. Fighting down here would be pointless; soon they would all be swimming. The other guards seemed to have realized this, and even the first man he knocked down had struggled to his feet, and joined the fleeing group.

"Master, what do we do?"

"Get the others out of here," came his simple response. Something that would take time. For although they were almost gone from the cave itself, the tunnel was narrow and only one could climb the ladder at a time to the surface. And how many would be wounded in that simple maneuver? Robin felt his worries rise, imagining the guards on the surface, firing arrows into the miners as they climbed. Surely they wouldn't kill in cold blood…

"Right," Much was nodding, not even observing the worry in Robin's voice. Instead he was speaking to Eleri, directing her to leave with the others.

"Are you sure?" she seemed to hesitate, and it snapped Robin from his trance.

"Go, we'll follow up behind," he nodded towards her, and with Much's agreement she moved to join the group. A moment later she was back, pulling Much into a quick hug.

"In case we don't see each other again," she explained, kissing him quickly on the cheek. Robin could see Much smile, an awkward, but proud grin.

"Of course we will," Much stammered after a moment, and stood perplexed as he watched her leave. It warmed Robin's heart, only briefly, for he realized that it would break Much's heart if she did not make it. But it would be just as heartbreaking if she did, because the man who was her husband would be there as well. And if Nathaniel didn't make it, then Rhodri…Robin felt himself swallow, feeling as though he was choking. He could not think of this now, he could not afford the distraction.

"Keep moving," he turned his attention to the last few stragglers, the water making it difficult to climb through the opening and into the tunnel. Where the water had once been at their ankles, was now mid-calf. Much stood near his side, watching as the last made it through the opening. He was about to follow, but Robin caught his arm, motioning back. One of the guards that had been taken down was attempting to struggle to his feet, only to be caught in the growing current.

Robin had half a mind to leave him, knowing both he needed to be up top with the others, and that the guard would probably prove a problem once on dry ground, but he could not simply abandon a man to such a dismal fate.

"Help me," Robin was already moving, tying the sword to his waist with a makeshift cord.

"But master," he started, only to fall silent from the glance shot his way. He muttered a few regretful phrases under his breath, but followed. Robin was reaching down, helping the man to his feet. The guard either didn't realize it was him who had started the chaos, or he simply didn't care. He grasped Robin's forearm tightly, allowing himself to catch his balance with Much's help. And no sooner than he had did he break free, stumbling for the entrance, leaving Robin and Much in his wake.

"Is that everyone?" Robin took a quick glance around. He did not want to leave anyone in this watery grave, but the need for their own departure was growing ever more evident.

"Master, the water," Much protested briefly, stating the obvious. The water was now past their knees. They could not afford to wait any longer.

"Let's go."

The struggle to the tunnel was fairly easy; it was when they began their trek up towards the main shaft that things became difficult. Any light here had been extinguished, the darkness encasing them. The water here moved around their thighs and the current was strong as the water raced down towards the main cave. Robin figured it would not be long before the entire tunnel itself was flooded. And the cold…He hadn't felt it until now. His boots had been thick and protective. But now the water soaked the fabric that protected his legs and the chill of the water was more like a sting.

The water itself wasn't the only problem. More than once he stumbled, as Much did before him, their feet catching on debris that was moving along the ground. Rocks, no doubt, but equipment too, Robin was certain. Something struck him on the leg and he pitched forward, water splashing about his chest and over his shoulders. He let out a cry , another sudden shock of coldness sweeping over him. He spat out a mouthful of water, helped back to his feet by Much who had heard him cry out.

"Keep going," Robin encouraged him, but that was easier said than done. Their pace was maddening, slowed by the flow of water. It was as though they were trying to wade through a fast moving river, and Robin found himself trying to brace himself against the wall for support. That was when the first of rocks fell.

They didn't come from overhead, but from the side. The wall weakened, a mixture of soil and rock sliding down just behind them. Part of it hit Robin in the side, making him grimace, but causing little damage otherwise. The support structures however were creaking, groaning from the force of the water. He could remember Nathaniel's warning that the supports wouldn't hold for long.

Ahead of him Much stumbled, disappearing almost completely under the water when he fell. It was now almost to their waists, the closer they got to the main shaft, the higher the water. Robin helped Much stagger back to his feet, the man coughing and sputtering, no doubt having swallowed some water.

He could hear a crack just then, above the rushing water, the sound of sudden splashing. It was difficult to tell where it had come from, but he felt his heart sink at the sudden still in the water. There was still plenty of it, but the fierce current that had previously been there had quickly abated. Instead it was gently flow that weakly pulled at them.

"Well, that makes it a little easier," Much mused ahead of him, pushing his way through the water. Robin could only shake his head, fearful at what they would find. It took them a little more than a minute to see exactly what had happened. What little they could see, that was.

Robin reached over Much's shoulder, hand resting against the pile of boards that blocked their way. It was jumbled with rock, muddied soil and various debris that had been abandoned in the tunnel. He gave it the slightest of pushes, already knowing that it would do no good. It was an entire support, of that he was certain. He could reach the ceiling from where he stood, knowing the tunnel itself was not very tall. The debris was jammed there, thick enough so that they could not pass, but water still made its way through.

"What do we do?" Much cried, trying to desperately push against it. "It won't move, we have to, this is the only way out.."

He trailed off then, turning so suddenly he almost knocked the both of them down. "The cave, could we get out that way?"

Robin found himself shaking his head. Even if they could reach it, if the water hadn't flooded or worse, even collapsed the narrow entryway to the secondary cave there was no guarantee the rope still waited for them, and then they would be trapped yet again. Not only that, but Robin could remember how the walls had collapsed behind him…no, going back was not an option.

He fumbled for the sword he had taken, moving past Much to grab a hold of wood that was wedged into the pile. It was difficult to hold on, his hands numb for the water was cold, and he realized only now that he was shivering. Still, he gripped the blade and raised it above his head. It was no ax, but he was hoping that would serve as one now. There wasn't much room to swing it, and he could hardly muster any strength to properly try. He felt the jolt move down his arm, and Robin was certain he had done more damage to himself than he had the obstruction.

He tried another time, and yet again, grimacing at the pain that blossomed in his arm. He wasn't willing to give in, wasn't willing to give up. They had come this far, they couldn't meet their end here…

Much grabbed his arm from behind, taking the sword from him. Robin thought the man was trying to stop him, trying to force him to admit defeat. But Much moved up near him, and Robin realized he was taking his place. Robin allowed himself to take a step back, bracing himself against the wall. He was cold, so cold now…

Much was changing between chopping erratically at the pile, and poking the blade at it as if he hoped to find a weak spot. Robin said nothing, his racing heart calming. It was so cold…the water was above their waists now.

"Much," Robin called out to his companion. The man was growing frustrated, crying out as he hit the blockade over and over again. "Much!"

"It can't be…"

"It's no good," Robin swallowed painfully. He was not the only one shivering now.

"We can't just give up," Much protested, his voice thin. Robin found himself nodding. And if they couldn't go forward…

"We'll have to try and backtrack," though even as he said those words he felt little hope behind them. He wasn't the first to move, and Much took the lead. Robin waited where he was, following only when Much called out to him.

They hadn't gotten far. Where the wall had collapsed behind them it too had filled almost the entire tunnel. There was a gap, a few inches wide at the top perhaps large enough for a hand to fit through, but nowhere large enough for a man to fit through.

"What do we do?"

Robin could only shake his head, and his lack of response prompted a whine from the other.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, not knowing what else he could say. For what did one say when they knew that they were facing death, and that they had been the cause of it?

"We'll be okay," Much muttered, as if not hearing him. The man moved away, struggling through the water. It was still rising, and Robin knew it would not be long until they would drown. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"It'll be okay. The others will realize we're not up there, and they'll come looking for us. Right?"

"I don't think so, Much," Robin hated to disillusion him. Yet he doubted their lack of presence was the biggest concern out of everything that might be happening above. He wondered exactly what was happening. Had Nathaniel managed to convince the others to fight? How many had simply fled, seeing their one chance a freedom? How many had been already killed? He let out a breath, head leaning back against the cave wall as he shivered.

Robin was no fool; he knew that his life as an outlaw would most likely end in death. There were too many risks, and he had already cheated death more times than he could count. But this time he could see no way out. And worse yet, he would be taking Much with him.

He cursed himself, feeling like such a fool. Why hadn't he ordered the man out earlier? Hadn't that been the sole reason for all of this? To rescue Much? So why then had they stayed back there so long?

Why had he even thought that this might have been a good idea? It was too rash, to extravagant to hope for it work. They were out of options, and he knew it wouldn't be much longer before their time would be up. His only hope was that something good would come of this, that maybe the miners that escaped would find freedom and have a chance at life.

It wasn't much, yet he had to hope. It was the only way he could keep his panic at bay.

**TBC**


	42. Surface

**Sorry for the wait; I did a full rewrite on this chapter because I didn't like how the first one turned out. Many thanks to those of you who reviewed, I enjoy reading your thoughts!  
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**Onto the chapter  
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**Chapter 42: Surface  
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He did not like being cold. Or wet. So it was his unfortunate luck to be both, not to mention trapped. Twice he had tried to push his way up, and twice more he had tried to go back the way they had come. It was as Robin had said; their paths were blocked. And they had nothing to do but wait. Wait for what?

Much didn't bother asking, focusing his energy on trying to find a way out. Yes, someone might come back for them. He hoped Eleri would when she discovered he was not up there. She would come back, he knew that she would. But that wasn't really the point, he decided. Not if, but when. The water was rising, and soon he and Robin would have to be swimming. And he wasn't a very good swimmer…

He was trying to break free again, to find a way out so that they could get up. His hands gripped the boards, shook them, and he let out an irritated cry when they refused to move. Near him he could hear Robin.

"It's no use, Much."

He turned towards he man; or at least to where he thought Robin was. The man was difficult to see, but he could make out the faint outline of his silhouette against the wall. It made him angry; why wasn't Robin doing anything?

"We can't just stay here; we have to do something," Much proclaimed loudly, turning his attention back to the boards. If only they could break one…

"There's nothing we can do; just give up."

"Give up?" He stopped, bewildered. He had never heard Robin say that before. Sure, his master had moments where he made cynical remarks, but he had never really meant them. Yet here, there was no indication in his voice that pointed to such a thing. Instead it had been monotonous, like he didn't even care.

"I'm sorry," Robin had caught the shock in his voice. Now he was trying to explain himself. "I shouldn't have kept you behind. You shouldn't be here."

"I stayed," Much protested almost as soon as it had been said.

"And I should have made you go."

"That's…that's not true," he fumbled with his words. What Robin was suggesting was maddening. It never even occurred to Much to go on ahead and leave his master behind. True, Robin was no longer his master, but that did not change things.

Even for the time Much had been down here, for the time he had doubted Robin, all of it had gone away as soon as they had taken up arms again. Watching as the workers made their way out, the two working together to clear the rest of the cave. Sending Eleri with the others so she would be out of harm's way. It all felt how it should be; it was a feeling he quite enjoyed.

And now, even though things were bad, they were quite bad indeed, Much had not thought of wanting things any different. He would have not left Robin behind; that point was already set in his mind.

"This was my choice; you should have not been caught up in it."

Much shook his head, a frown on his face. "You didn't know, you couldn't have known this would happen. Did you?"

He heard Robin voice the denial, could hear that was sincere. But of course, Much already knew that. "So then it is settled."

"What is?"

"It is not your fault; you did not know."

"Much-"

"Not listening," he cut him off, turning around and heading back down to the other blockade. They would have to find a way out sooner or later. Much preferred sooner rather than later, he decided. He could hear Robin talking still, he was saying something, but Much wasn't paying attention. Robin could talk himself until he was out of breath and he would still be wrong. Much actually enjoyed the prospect of being right for once.

It wasn't something that was said that caught his attention. Rather how quiet it had gotten. One moment Robin had been talking, and now…

"Master?"

There was no response, and so he called again. Only the sound of his own voice could be heard. For a moment he worried, then he shook his head. Surely it couldn't mean…

Much turned quickly, fighting his way back up the tunnel. It felt as though it was taking forever, the current pulling at him and making things more difficult. He was almost to the top when he felt it, rather more almost stumbled over it. At first he thought it debris, for there had been quite a bit in the caves when the water first came in. But then Much could remember the way had been clear for some time for he had been going back and forth. And it wasn't debris, that meant…

Without thought he plunged into the water, hands reaching out. He could feel the folds of fabric, grabbing what he thought, or at least hoped, was an arm. He came up, sputtering for breath, trying to hold Robin up as well.

"I got you!" he called out in-between coughs. "I got you!"

"Let me go!"

Robin was actually fighting him. The surprise baffled Much, even as Robin pulled out his hold.

"But I thought…you were…I-" Much found himself stuttering. He had thought Robin was drowning. But his master showed no signs that he was. What had he been doing underwater?

Much could hear the splash, and knew that Robin had once again gone under. It worried him, quite a lot. Robin had not told him anything, had not said a word. What was he supposed to think? Much frowned, trying to be patient. And the longer Robin was under, the more he began to worry. Finally he could stand it no longer, and was about to fetch him once more when Robin called.

"Much! Underwater, there's a passage."

"What?" he wasn't entirely certain what Robin was saying. Or even where Robin was. That was when he realized Robin was on the other side of the barrier.

"Go, deep breath," Robin warned him. "I'll be here to help you."

Much nodded, but couldn't quite bring himself to go under. It had been one thing to help Robin, but now that Robin was in no danger, he wasn't sure if he could do it again.

"Now, Much!"

He took a breath, one that he hoped was deep enough like Robin had suggested, and plunged underwater. The pull of the current was stronger here, and he was surprised, reaching out ahead. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't see, and then his hand hit something. The pile of rocks and sludge, leftover boards.

Grabbing that he brought himself forward, and reaching out, he discovered exactly what Robin had told him. There was a passageway. A very small one at that. Much wasn't sure he could even fit through. Still, he had to try. And try he did.

It was more like a tunnel than a passageway, and not an even one. It went up, and down, and narrow as it was he could barely make it. He felt his lungs burning, starting to ache. Worry was with him, he hadn't taken a deep enough breath, he wouldn't make it. Could he turn back? He couldn't even turn around. He was going to get stuck here, he was going to die; this was not the way he wanted to die. Not that he particularly wanted to die, he thought miserably. But if he had to die, then he would rather it be somewhere warm, yes warm would be nice.

Something grabbed him then. Much panicked, trying to shake off whatever it might be. It held fast, and then he realized that whatever it was, it was helping him. Pulling him through the rest of the debris. Robin had a hold of his wrist, a firm grasp that almost hurt. And the next moment he was coughing, sputtering, breathing in the much needed air.

"Let's move! They may need us up there." Robin urged him on, hardly giving him a chance to rest. Much stumbled on after him, still trying to catch his breath. It was good to see though, the thought lingering in the back of his mind. His master was back.

* * *

The day had started well. Or so he thought. He had slept well, had taken a generous morning meal as he always did, a cup of wine to wash it all down. It was shortly after that he had first heard of what happened.

The guard had come bumbling in without so much as knocking, something Vaysey would have addressed had it been one of his own. But this man came with Chaffee, and the Frenchman had made it quite clear that they were not under the sheriff's charge. An irritating detail. He had difficulty keeping track of his own guards, let alone the ones Chaffee allowed to roam free in Nottingham. How was he supposed to tell which ones to reprimand and what ones to send to his master-at-arms?

"What is it?" He couldn't help keep the scorn out of his voice. And he would most certainly have a talk with Chaffee about this later. Chaffee might have a say in a number of things, but his guards would most certainly learn decency if they were to stay here.

"The dungeons, they are empty," the man spat out quickly.

To this the sheriff only frowned. "What do you mean, empty?"

"Gone, all the outlaws are gone. The lady too."

Vaysey sat up straight, hands gripping the arms of the chair as he rationalized what had happened. Surely he had misheard, for how would they have gotten out?

"Someone attacked the jailer, took the keys," the guard explained, even though Vaysey had failed to ask the question. Instead the man's mind was racing, trying to make some sense out of it all. Who would have gotten past all of the guards? No one in Nottingham was that good except…

"Hood," he whispered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

He shot a stern glance towards the guard who still stood at the door. "Get out of here; and send for your master."

No sooner had the door closed that he was up, and pacing. Fingers laced together behind his back as he moved back and forth across the floor. It couldn't be, could it? After all, no body had been found. But the forest was a big place, it was so easy for a body to be lost, or for it to already have been buried…

Yet who else in all of Nottinghamshire could get in and out without drawing any attention whatsoever? Vaysey felt himself swallow, the smallest surge of fear residing in him. If it was Hood…no, Hood didn't kill. But he certainly had threatened to do so before, if he went after innocents. Robin's men by far were not innocent, but perhaps Marian was. And how Robin was intrigued by her. While technically no harm had come to her, he had been prepared to hang her. And what would Robin do when he learned of that?

He came to a stop, reaching up with one hand, touching his throat. Hastily he pulled it away, berating himself. Hood was no killer. He hadn't anything to worry about. Vaysey resumed his pacing.

He had no proof it was Robin, and even if it was, then why had Robin waited this long to come out of hiding? Robin surely would have done something before. Yes, that made him feel better. Robin had just outwitted him once again, had taken the time to devise a plan to rescue them all.

But what of Gisborne? The thought made him stop once more. What had become of Gisborne? The guard had said the dungeons were empty. Surely he would have mentioned if the man had been left behind. Which meant he too was no longer there. But surely, Robin wouldn't have taken him along, would he?

Yet Vaysey reasoned that Gisborne did not necessarily have to leave with Robin and his men. Perhaps the man left on his own accord, simply eager to be free of his confines. Perhaps he had gone with the leper. Yes; that had to be the case. Otherwise the sheriff was sure the man would end up here. Maybe he was coming…maybe he was coming to finish what the sheriff had started.

For the second time that morning Vaysey felt afraid. He was no fool; Gisborne was not like Hood. Gisborne would kill. And he had many reasons to do so now. Not only had the sheriff imprisoned his bride-to-be, but the man as well, stripping him of title and of his lands. And how many times had he humiliated him in the stocks? Vaysey shook his head, trying to calm himself down as he started pacing again.

No; he couldn't think like that. If Gisborne was still in the castle, someone would have seen him. He was right in his first assessment. Gisborne was no Hood; he could not sneak undetected into the sheriff's room, could he? Vaysey flinched at the sudden sound, turning quickly towards the window. He expected to see someone there, realizing then he was unarmed, with no way to protect himself.

He let out half a chuckle, something that was more like a snort. The wind, it had just been the wind. Really, he couldn't let himself get that way. But he couldn't help going over to his table, and collecting a dinner knife. Really, it would hardly do anything, but it was better than nothing. He tucked that into his belt, just in case.

Then a third thought hit him. One that made him smile. The outlaws had escaped. The smile turned into a grin, and then a laugh as he did a little dance where he stood. The outlaws had escaped, how wonderful was that? Chaffee's plan had failed.

If they had hanged the miserable beasts like he wanted, then the outlaws would have been dead, unable to escape. But Chaffee's bleeding heart and twisted sense of humor wanted to preserve them, keep them alive, to humiliate them. And now they were free, roaming the streets of Nottingham. All due to Chaffee's incompetence.

And the Sheriff of Nottingham had to wonder what Prince John would have to say to that?

* * *

He had found the opening purely by chance. There had been the smallest of changes in the current, where it pulled faster in the middle. Robin hadn't noticed it at first, and he reasoned it couldn't hurt to see what might be causing it. The opening itself was hardly there, forcing Robin to pull free what he could in order to pass through. He had it almost cleared when Much pulled him up. The second time he had gone down, Robin had tried going through. There was no way for him to know if he was going to make it. So it was a great relief to reach the other side, and breathe air once more.

Helping Much through been easy, and Robin was already urging him to move. The opening now was just ahead, they would reach it before long. There was at first worry with him, when he could not see it, but that soon vanished when the shape of the ladder appeared before him. He paused long enough to allow Much to move ahead, and Robin took up the rear.

It was difficult to grab the rungs. His fingers would not respond the way he wanted, so numb from the cold. With his injury to his other hand, it made climbing all the more difficult. Somehow he managed, though slow as he was. Halfway up he came to a stop, arm wrapped about the ladder to support himself, fingers working to free the clasp on his cloak. It was weighing him down, so sodden with water it felt as though he was carrying armor. A few fumbles of clumsy fingers and it fell free, relieving him of the burden.

Much was far ahead, almost to the top now. Robin began moving, a little faster now because he could hear the sounds above. The sounds of war. And while it was not a war like he and Much had fought back in the Holy Lands, it was still a battle. A fight for freedom, and one, Robin could reason, that would cost the lives of many.

He blinked as he reached the top, blinded by the sudden sunlight. He had forgotten how difficult it was to see, and stumbled blindly onto solid ground. Robin knew he could not stay there, shielding his eyes as best as he could and peering ahead. Around him guards held weapons, trying to keep the miners at bay. Yet they were fighting, using rocks, tree limbs, whatever they might have found.

Someone grabbed him, helping him to his feet. Robin stumbled, but found his footing quickly, nodding to unasked question. He was fine, and Much let go, the man squinting in the sunlight as well. Robin followed his gaze, spying Eleri off to one side. She was leading a group of five or six miners against a couple of armed guards. They had little to use, but they were not giving up.

"Go," Robin nodded towards him, knowing that was Much's first intent. The man did not need a second invitation. Robin turned his own attention back towards the manor. He had spied the man earlier, only briefly, and he searched quickly, hoping he was right. Robin found himself smiling, watching Nathaniel fight off another man.

There were dead around him as he ran, both miners and guards, just as Robin suspected. He knew he could not save everyone, and Nathaniel was not one of his men he could rightly command not to kill. Nathaniel would have numerous reasons for revenge. Something Robin had learned was that it was difficult to stop a man out for blood.

He slowed, stooping over to grab a fallen sword from a guard on the ground. He clutched it clumsily in his left hand, trying to get a good hold. He could fight like this, he knew. He had long ago taught himself to fight with his weak hand back during the war. Thankfully he had never any need of it at that time, but he was grateful for having practiced so. For having kept that practice up. He was nowhere as good as he was with his right, but neither was he vulnerable.

Robin proved the point a moment later, intercepting a blow from one of the guards. One of the miners had been caught up in the scuffle falling to the ground. He would have been cut open if Robin had not intervened. Robin clumsily leapt over the fallen man, distracting the guard and allowing the other time to get away.

"You?!" the accusation rang through the air, full of surprise. A moment later, Robin could see why.

It was Latimer who stood across from him. There was blood on his sword, and it was not any ordinary sword. The blade was curved, catching a glint of sunlight; a Saracen Sword. Robin's sword he had taken from the Holy Lands. Latimer could see him staring at it; the man hefted it up for show.

"A present from Alfred," he boasted, "for finding you out. What will he give me, I wonder, when I bring him your head?"

Robin said nothing, instead keeping his gaze on Latimer. He could not let himself get flustered, despite the recent memories rising. Not too long ago he had been held prisoner, had been at this man's mercy. He had been burned, beaten, and broken. Yet Robin tried to not dwell on that fact, doing his best to keep his breaths even as he held up his sword.

Latimer was the first to attack; there was strength behind it. So much so that Robin almost lost a hold of his sword. He tightened his grip, dancing out of the way of the next blow. They were wide sweeps with the sword, and Robin took the opportunity to jab forward with his blade.

It cut open air, but came to close for comfort for the man. Latimer sneered, his defense lowering for a moment. Robin could not tell if the man was out of breath, or merely judging his opponent. Whatever the case he was thankful. It gave him a moment to catch his breath.

"You look tired. Don't worry," Latimer let out a laugh. "I won't kill you. Not right away, at least. We'll have some more fun like we did last time. How is your hand, by the way?"

The jibe was enough to provoke him. Robin cursed himself even as he was moving. Latimer was the quicker of the two, the man sidestepping the blow entirely. Instead a blow caught him in the side, stealing away his breath. Robin almost stumbled, but he kept his footing, turning to keep his opponent in his line of sight.

"I don't know how you got out of there alive, but I will find out who helped you. And they will suffer the same fate as you."

"Does it bother you," Robin wondered, his breath returning, "that there are those within your ranks that would betray you? That not only they would go against you, but that they would make you look like a fool?"

This time Robin had to jump out of the way. Latimer attacked with a fury, Robin's point proved as the man came. He was hardly able to match blow for blow. Worse of all, he was quickly tiring. The earlier adrenaline burst was now gone. His lungs were burning, his chest aching with each quickened breath. A moment later Robin felt himself trip.

No sooner had he hit the ground did he find himself pinned. Latimer was above him, boot on his chest just below his throat. Robin tried to bring his sword up, but that was knocked aside. When he reached for the man's foot, he was stopped again. Latimer stepped up with his other boot, pinning his right arm as the blade came down.

The grin on his face was wide, the man watching as he traced the sword down Robin's arm and to his hand. It was already balled into a fist, but with a twist of the blade Robin was forced to press it flat to the ground to avoid injury. The tip of the blade itself came to rest where the bandage encased his still-healing fingers.

"Let's finish what we started, wouldn't you say?"

Robin did what he could, tried to use his weight to throw off the other man. He was too weak, his strength completely gone from the previous fight. It had not been a fight, he realized. Latimer had purposely run him dry. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

It never came. Instead there was the slightest shift of weight above him. The hold on his arm lessened, as did the one on his chest. Robin opened his eyes, watching as Latimer stumbled above him, surprise etching the man's face. Then he saw the motion, the movement of the blade leave the man's chest. A dark crimson spread as the man staggered, and finally fell.

Robin quickly scrambled to his feet, nodding to Dax as the man approached. There was relief in his face when he saw Robin was alright, the faintest of smiles. The man himself was covered in blood, a sword in one hand, a bow slung over his back. He had been far more prepared for this than Robin had been. He reached out to grasp Dax's free hand.

"Thank you-" It was all Robin ever got out.

There was a strangled cry as an arrow buried itself in Dax's chest, the arrow flying through the small gap that had been between them. The man stumbled, knocking Robin to the ground as well. A good thing it h ad been, for a second arrow was sailing through the air where he had been a moment ago. Robin struggled out from under him, moving without much thought.

He hooked an arm around Dax's shoulder, pulling him along the ground. There was an overturned cart not too far away. There were more arrows that came near him, urging him on despite his weakened form. If he was to stop…

Robin let out a breath, collapsing behind the wooden structure. It was rotting away, confirming his thoughts it had been here for some time. But it provided adequate protection for the moment. He allowed himself another breath before turning to Dax. He was no medic, but he would do what he could. Quickly he took off the bow and quiver that was still slung over the man's shoulder.

"Hold on my friend," he whispered, but his voice fell silent as he eased the man to his back. Dull, lifeless eyes stared ahead; the arrow had done its job.

Death was not a stranger for Robin. He had seen many a men die on the battlefield, had even held some as they passed from this world to the next. But this he had not been expecting, and he felt his stomach turn, the tears threatening to choke him.

Hastily he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, trying to regain his composure. There was still a fight going on around him; he could not afford to lose himself here. There were others counting on him, and things were far from over. Robin drew a breath, searching the area. The swords were still in the pile they had fallen, just out of reach from where he was sheltering. He would need them.

He crept out, reaching for one, but pulled back quickly. An arrow cut across the path a moment later. His earlier suspicion was confirmed. There was someone up there hunting him. And that someone could be just about anyone. There were a number here he had not exactly gotten along with. He tried again, but got nowhere closer.

Robin pressed his back against the cart, closing his eyes. He had to think. He could not stay here; eventually whoever was firing would close in on him. Robin glanced behind his shoulder, peering through a small crack in the wood. He could see the bow already strung, the man watching, waiting. Robin felt himself swallow; it was Alfred.

He turned his gaze back to Dax, disbelief in his eyes. He could well remember how the man had said there was no love between them, but for a father to kill his own son? Robin did not want to believe it. Yet the arrow protruding from his chest was enough to prove him wrong. Worst, if Alfred was willing to kill his own son, how many more would he kill? He had to be stopped. But how?

Robin could not even reach the swords, and he doubted he would have the strength to fight his way clear to the front. Not to mention Alfred would shoot him dead the moment he got close. So what then?

Robin's gaze came to rest on the bow once more. Even if he could shoot it would do no good. The quiver had been empty; the sole reason Dax had been using a sword instead. He paused then, his breath catching in his chest. There was an arrow; his eyes were fixated on the man's body.

Without even thinking, Robin was on his knees. He braced one hand on the torso, fingers wrapping around the shaft. With careful movement he pulled it free, a sickening sound of tearing flesh following. He grimaced as he inspected the arrow. The damage with minimal; it would work well enough. But he had only one shot, and Robin could remember his time back in the caves.

Clumsily he picked up the bow, fitting it so that was comfortable in his grasp. He set the arrow, pulling back on the string to test it. The familiar burn returned the sharp pain that made him gasp. Yet this time he fought it, forcing himself to hold still, allowing the pain to pass. It was manageable now. He drew a little further, gritting his teeth. This he could do. This he had to do.

With a breath he rose to his feet, exposing himself to his enemy, and narrowed in on his sight.

**TBC**


	43. Changes

**Sorry for the long break; Holiday season was hectic for me. Things are calming down now so hopefully I'll be able to return to posting regularly. **

**Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta **

**Many thanks :)**

* * *

**Chapter 43: Changes**

He missed. It was the only reason that Alfred was still alive for Robin had been aiming to kill. There had only been one chance, and he had to make the shot count. He could not hope on hitting such a precise mark as he often did in the past. As he expected, the arrow had veered to one side. Robin still could not figure out his aiming, a mild thought passed through his head wondering if he ever would. Not that it mattered much here.

The arrow had still buried itself in flesh, just below the man's shoulder on one arm. There was a shout of pain, one Robin could hear from where he stood. Alfred had fallen to one knee. The weapon dropped as his other hand clenched the wound.

Robin discarded his bow, knowing it would serve him no longer. Instead he was moving, running out to where the swords had been discarded. He found his own blade quickly, relishing the feel of it in his own hands once more. Quickly he moved up towards the front.

One of the guards had moved in on Alfred. Robin had expected men to help protect him, but this man was doing no such thing. He recognized the face, but he could draw no name to man. Robin watched as the man kicked out, knocking Alfred down completely. A sword was held at his throat, effectively pinning him. Alfred was shouting, cursing, a string of demands leaving his lips. Robin could see Nathaniel moving in on him.

He reached the steps just as Nathaniel drew the blade back. He heard himself say the word, but Nathaniel, he knew, was not listening. No man listened to reason when he was blinded by anger. That was precisely why he had to stop him. Reaching out Robin managed to grab a hold of Nathaniel's hand, stepping in front of him.

"Don't," Robin pleaded with him. He could well remember the tales Nathaniel had told him before. This was not his first time killing; Robin did not want another dark memory marring the man's past. It was one thing to fight against someone who was a threat, yet it was completely different when they were unarmed. Not only that, but Robin knew that if Nathaniel killed him here, like he was now, he would be branded a murderer. He would be guilty of killing a noble, no matter of Alfred's devious deeds. And nothing said could justify what had taken place.

"I need to," Nathaniel pulled hastily away. He was the stronger of the two, and Robin knew if Nathaniel chose to go through with it, he would by all means win. But Robin would not give in so easily.

"No."

"Robin, I have to-"

"No, Nathaniel, you don't," Robin corrected him harshly. He met the man's eyes. "Do not do this."

"With everything's he's done-"

"His fate will be decided by the sheriff," Robin cut him off. He needed to impress the importance of this fact. "If you kill him here, the sheriff, or Prince John will send someone in his place. The mines will be reopened, and you will be hanged."

"He will pay the ransom," Nathaniel argued, hardly hearing the words Robin spoke. "The sheriff will let him go."

"Then we must see he does not. Trust me."

Nathaniel's glare was hard, but finally he pulled away. "He will die. If the sheriff does not see that through, then I will kill him myself. I will not allow him to live."

Robin nodded, already knowing that much to be true. He knew little of the Sheriff of Devonshire, but he was going to bank on the man's good favor. Behind him, Alfred was still yelling, threatening to have them all killed.

"Aston, bind him. Gag him as well," Nathaniel said sharply, anger still evident in his voice.

Robin watched as the man complied, finally able to place a name to the face. Aston had been one of his companions prior to rooming with Nathaniel. He glanced around, wondering who else may have turned to help them. All around them people were helping, guards and miners intermingling. In one direction the wounded were being laid out, and Robin could see Much briefly, helping. Robin knew he should help, but suddenly he felt dizzy, completely drained. A firm grasp on his arm steady him as he sank to the ground, his exhaustion apparent.

"Are you alright?" Nathaniel was watching him.

Robin nodded. He didn't feel as dizzy when he was sitting. Nathaniel watched him for a moment before he was satisfied. The man turned back to the scene before him.

"So many are dead."

Robin found himself nodding in agreement. Already he could see another pile forming to one side; that of the dead. He closed his eyes at the memory.

"Dax is dead."

"What?" Nathaniel shook his head. "He can't be,"

Robin opened his eyes and met his gaze. The reaction had been odd; there was a strong disbelief in the man's voice.

"What is it?"

"Rhodri," came the reply. He heard Nathaniel swallow. "Dax took him away, before everything...before it all happened. He said he would be safe. He didn't tell me where..."

Robin frowned, his thoughts racing as Nathaniel continued.

"I agreed; I didn't want Rhodri caught up in things if it did not go well. But I never thought…I didn't think.."

"We'll find him," Robin encouraged him. How, he wasn't sure. But something had to be done; and it was then he realized. "I know where he is-"

"How? Where?" Nathaniel was crouching near him now, uncertainty in his gaze. It was as though he wanted to believe Robin, but almost afraid to hope at the same time. Robin could feel for him; Rhodri was all the man had, the only reason he had gone through with all of this.

"I cannot say," he started, holding up a hand when Nathaniel began to protest. "Things may still go ill," Robin indicated with a glance over his shoulder to where Alfred still sat. He would do everything he could to see that it would not, but Robin knew already that just because he wanted something to happen, did not mean that it would.

"I cannot help him if you do not tell me," Nathaniel was not giving in easily. "I must know-"

"You must trust me; for now he is safe. I would not lie to you."

There was frustration in the other man's eyes, but Robin could see him giving in. Nathaniel was exhausted after the current ordeal, as was Robin. As were they all, he assumed. But rest would come later, for there was still so much that had to be done.

* * *

Most of Alfred's guard had fled. For those who remained behind, they had quickly allied themselves to the other side, dropping their weapons and pitching in where help was needed. Nathaniel, under Robin's suggestion, began to prepare for travel, encouraging as many of the miners to come as he could. The trip to Exeter in order to speak with the sheriff was necessary, and the sooner they left, the better things would be.

Robin found himself weaving in and out of the crowds. Everyone had drifted towards their own groups they had been back down in the mine. Food and drink, as well as aid were being given out, and no one was left for want. Alfred's manor provided more than enough of everything for all who were there. Even Robin had taken some ale, a bit of bread, but he had brushed aside Nathaniel's comment of rest, even though he was beginning to suspect it would do him good.

He found Much helping by Eleri's side. She was cleaning and bandaging wounds, tending to those who had been injured during the fight. Much was following a pace behind, helping where she needed. He was so focused on the task he didn't see Robin when he first came up, but gave him a cheeky smile when he did notice him. He spoke with Eleri briefly, and then pulled away.

"Isn't it great?" he asked, coming up to Robin. "Well, not great no," he corrected himself, looking at the injured and dead. "We are free, and that is great."

"True," Robin agreed.

"It is like the war again," he continued, quieter now. He shuddered suddenly. "I never had wanted to see it again…"

Robin nodded, understandingly. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was not the only one who was plagued by the dark memories. He watched Eleri as she worked, the woman hardly pausing in her administrations as she tended to an older man, another worker. He could see Much watching her as well, could see the longing in his eyes. A look he knew all too well, one that he had seen before in others. Much was in love.

And that worried him. For how was he supposed to break the news about Eleri? That question had plagued him since the discovery. There were two obvious choices; to say something, or to keep quiet about what he had learned. The right thing to do was to say something; but it didn't make it any easier.

"Master? You alright? Are you hurt?"

Robin quickly masked his emotions, pushing the thoughts from his head. There would be time for that later. He met Much's gaze and nodded.

"Nathaniel and I will be headed to Exeter to meet with the sheriff. We'll be taking a few of the others with us. Until then, I need you to be on your guard."

"You think there will be problems?"

"If the other guards return," Robin told him. Some of the most prominent guards, such as Latimer, one of Alfred's closest men, had been killed in the skirmish. Yet others, such as Eloy and Mercer were not among the bodies or prisoners. It suggested they had gotten away. They were smart enough to regroup, to lead a small band as though they were an army. And all of them were skilled enough with a blade to do real damage if they chose to do so.

His hope was that they had taken to the hills instead. They might be smart, but none of them were all that loyal. Most likely they would have gone off on their own as soon as they started to lose the advantage. Robin would not chance it one way or another. He would not leave only to return and find a hostage situation.

"Right…what do we do if they do come back?"

"You get out of here," Robin answered simply. It was better to run than it was to stay and lose the fight. And that was not the only worry. He reached out and clasped Much on the shoulder to get his attention.

"If we do not come back, then you must lead them all away from here."

"What do you mean if you don't come back? You will come back."

"I have not spoken with the sheriff here, I do not know how things will go. I cannot promise anything."

"Then do not go," Much offered the obvious solution. "Just…lock Alfred and the others up. Banish them or something."

"It is not that simple," he chuckled lightly at the proposition. "It is not like back home; no, the only way this will be resolved is if the sheriff steps in and takes action. But to do so he must know what is going on; on what has happened. We must have faith that he will do the right thing."

"But what if he doesn't? What if he is like the Sheriff of Nottingham? He'll have you hanged instead."

"Well, if he is anything like the Sheriff of Nottingham, then I won't be hanged." Robin mused slightly, grinning at his own joke. He took on a more somber look when Much didn't join in. "I will make him see. You must trust me."

"I do trust you. Just not this new sheriff. Send someone else instead."

"Much," his patience was wearing thin. "Two days. If we do not return by then, get the others out of here. Promise me."

"Fine, we will; but where do we take them?"

"Where ever you need to. Just see them safe."

Much nodded, then shrugged his shoulders. "Not that I have to worry about it because you will be back."

The man turned as Eleri called for help. Much gave him an apologetic look before pulling away. Robin watched for a minute, and then went his own way as well. There were still some things he needed to do before he left with the others. As he did so, Much's words echoed in his mind. _You will be back._

He held his breath. He could only hope the man was right.

* * *

He followed her without question. Gisborne had always thought he would be the one in the lead, the one calling the shots. He imagined taking off from Nottingham, finding a new shire in which he could rise to power. He and Marian would be properly wed, and live a good life, a new life. They would forget about the one they used to have here.

Yet when they separated from the others, Marian had taken the lead. She had gone further into the forest, and Gisborne had followed, for what else was he supposed to do? They talked little, mostly about the change in the weather, the fact it was starting to rain, or whether or not the berries they had found could be eaten without growing ill. Gisborne had eaten them anyway, hungry enough to not care what the end result would be. What was really on his mind was what was to happen

He was angry; he had spent so much time trying to deny what was right before him, to try and overlook what he saw. It wouldn't last much longer, he knew. Gisborne could see once again that Marian knew these woods all too well. They were not following any path, yet she knew exactly where to step. Twice even she stopped, had gone around a specific area, warning him to avoid the hidden traps that lay there. The final blow came nearly an hour later, when they reached the base of a cave.

He stood there shaking his head, all the while Marian let out a breath. "We're finally here."

"This is Hood's old camp," Gisborne informed her. His voice was hard as he tried to keep his anger at bay. He and the sheriff had holed Robin and his men up here once a few years back. There was still the minor hope that Marian knew of this place for a different reason. But there was no denial on her face.

"I know," she confirmed softly, turning to look at him. "There will be supplies in there, some food if we are lucky. We can stay here for a few days-"

"It's true, then?" Gisborne cut her off, taking a step towards her. "The sheriff was right?"

"About?"

"You're in league with Hood. You always have been." He threw the accusation at her, expecting, no hoping for, a denial.

"Yes," came the dreaded answer instead. He felt his breath catch, felt his anger surge, but strangely enough he found he could do nothing, not even say a word. Marian continued on in his silence.

"I helped Robin when he needed it, just as I helped you when you needed me, just like I helped many others. I do not have to choose a side, it is not a war."

"It is to me," Gisborne argued, furious and hurt all at the same time. She had been lying to him for all this time and he had been too blind to see it all. But he was angry too, wondering now if all of Robin's success had come from Marian's intervention. His one enemy had the aide of the single woman who was supposed to be his wife…

"You had no right helping him; he is an outlaw."

"And so are we, or have you forgotten?" Marian pointed out. She came up to him, stopping so she was just an arm length away. "And tell me how it is not okay for me to help Robin and the others, but it was okay for you to get their help when the sheriff sentenced me?"

"That was different," he argued, taken back that she had called him an outlaw. It might be true, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it. He was about to deny it when she held up a hand.

"There is no difference," she shook her head. "You went to them because you needed help. They come to me when they need my help."

"And so you betray us," Gisborne scowled, forgetting that he was no longer working for the sheriff. "You betray us, and all the while playing me for a fool." He said the last part forlornly. There was an ache in his heart, and he knew it was more from the knowledge that the sheriff had been right all along about her.

"That is not true," she defended. "I did what I needed to survive; that did not change how I felt about you. Nor does it mean that I never regretted what I had to do to you."

"I would never hurt you," he answered fiercely. For though he was angry, the anger was more at himself than it was at her. He was a fool to have ever believed any of it to be true. Ahead of him Marian shivered, glancing towards the sky as the rain started to pick up.

"Please, let us discuss this later. We'll get a fire going, have some food and get some proper sleep. Then we'll talk about it."

"You will not avoid this subject," he started to protest, but was surprised as she turned away.

"You do what you will, but I am going to get out of this weather."

He stood there, surprised she had defied him. Marian climbed the hill and disappeared into the cave leaving him alone. Gisborne's hands curled into fists by his side, torn between his inner emotions. Part of him wanted to deny all of it, regardless of how foolish it would be to do so, and make peace with her. The other, wanted to storm in there forcing his authority to be obeyed. He wanted the truth, wanted to know everything, and yet, he was afraid to hear everything.

The sky darkened around him as the rain fell. He half considered going off his own way, to forget about her. That was impossible he knew, and at the moment, he figured, Marian was his only ally. He would gain no favor by ignoring that small fact. So with a heavy sigh, he climbed up the hill, and followed her inside.

* * *

In the end, there were twenty-three of them. Aside from Robin and Nathaniel, there were seven guards, and thirteen workers that came with. Alfred, of course, was the final occupant of the group, being led still gagged and bound within the group. Robin and Nathaniel were at the forefront, riding atop two of the few horses that been taken for the journey. Most walked, and so set a slow but steady pace as they made their way to Exeter. Even so, it took them more than half the day before they reached the city; the light was fading as the procession drew into the castle courtyard.

There were wary glances their way, and they were halted before they could go very far. Robin had spoken immediately, asking for the Sheriff of Devonshire, but he supposed there had been little need for that. A short, bulky man, whom Robin suspected to be the master-at-arms, was already disappearing inside the castle. Not ten minutes later, the man reappeared, the sheriff by his side.

"Sheriff Edmund," Nathaniel was the one to step forward, having dismounted from his steed earlier. He gave a small bow out of respect, one that was followed by Robin and the others.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Robin said nothing, allowing Nathaniel to start. He had learned what little Nathaniel knew about the man on their travels here. Up until now, Nathaniel had had no reason to interact with the sheriff, and most of his knowledge had been based on what he had heard from others. Whatever the case, Robin found it better to let him take the lead.

"This man," he indicated to Alfred, "has been using slave labor to run his mines; buying Christians, an action banned by the Pope, and others he simply kidnaps and forces into labor."

The sheriff, Edmund, raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixated on Alfred. "And you have proof of this?"

"These men and women have come thus far to speak of such," Nathaniel turned to look at the group behind them. Most stood, but others had taken the opportunity to sit. They might have been used to long labor in the mines, but walking this distance was not something they were accustomed to.

"Who are you?"

"Nathaniel, son of Michael."

"And your significance in this is what?"

"These past years I have been forced into his servitude; the only way I could see my son. Until recently I have not had the chance to break free or escape with him. And to speak of his ill-doings before now would only serve to risk the life of my son. As well as my own."

"So you admit that you were a part of this unlawful act?"

"Only by necessity," Nathaniel agreed, his voice wavering. He obviously had not been expecting the accusation, but Robin had held a slight suspicion. He took the moment to step forward just then.

"Sheriff Edmund, you realize that some of these men here were as much slaves as the miners themselves," Robin pointed out.

"And you are?" the sheriff raised an eyebrow, perplexed at his forwardness.

Robin was about to speak, but then faltered. He was about to take on the alias he had for so long used, yet thought better of it. Alfred and some of the others already knew who he was, so it would do little good in trying to deny it. Plus he was a long way from Nottinghamshire, and he had little reason now to hide who was.

"Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntington."

"You're a long way from home," Edmund mused, but said nothing more on that matter. Instead he looked back to Nathaniel.

"You say these men and women will speak against this man?" he indicated towards Alfred. The man was still bound and gagged, a look of fury set on his face. If he had the ability, no doubt he would be defending himself and change the story to suit him best. It was why they had left him gagged. Still, the man would talk, sooner or later. The sheriff would hear his side of the story.

"They will," Nathaniel was more confident now.

"The words of…commoners, against a lord. Now that will be interesting."

"It is the truth-" his voice was rising, but he faltered as his arm was grabbed. Robin shook his head, indicating arguing wasn't the best of ideas.

"Please, milord. We all have come a long way, we are weary and would appreciate the hospitality you can offer until we can see over the matter more appropriately."

Edmund watched Robin for a long time, an uncomfortable silence stretching around them. The city around them was preparing for the night, men and women returning to their homes despite their curiosity at the group of newcomers. The light had all but faded, and even with the torches being lit, it was difficult to see.

"Of course," the sheriff finally spoke. "We do have accommodations in the castle, my servants will see that everyone is fed," he turned to his master-at-arms.

"See to the horses and take Lord Alfred to a separate room. See that he treated well, but until further notice he is a prisoner." The man was quick in giving the orders, moving even as the sheriff turned. Edmund glanced over his shoulder just then.

"Locksley? I would very much like to speak with you in private, if you would."

Robin had initially begun to follow Nathaniel and the others, but stopped as the sheriff called out. It was plain to see that it was an order, as opposed to a request, despite how it had been worded. He gave Nathaniel a nod to show that it was okay, and turned to follow the sheriff up the stairs, away from the others.

To say he wasn't frightened would have been a lie. He was led through twists and turns, one long corridor after another. It was so much like Nottingham Castle and yet so different it was nerve-racking. If the need came, he would never be able to find his way out of here. And that frightened him more.

He was surprised when the sheriff called him here. He had expected the man to speak with one, or even some of them. To speak with Nathaniel, with some of the workers, or even with Alfred. But why the sudden interest in him?

Robin could likely guess. When he had told the sheriff who he was, the man hadn't bothered to inquire anymore about it. There was a good chance he knew more than Robin had first suspected. Now he was starting to wish he had stuck with being Royston White. Alfred would not have been able to call him out on it right then, and Nathaniel, he knew, would have been perplexed, but the man wouldn't have given him away.

They finally came to a room, as long as it was wide, and well furnished. It was an easy guess that it was the sheriff's quarters, something that was both worrisome and encouraging. If the sheriff did have something planned, he could have taken him anywhere. The dungeons, for instance. Why instead his personal quarters?

They were alone, the guards dismissed at the door as they stepped inside. The sheriff pulled off his overcoat that had been pulled on hastily when he was summoned, followed by his gloves. He was a tall man, thin and worn down by age, but it slowed him little.

Edmund picked up a decanter that sat on a small decorative table and poured some wine. One glass he offered to Robin, who took it tentatively. Still he didn't drink from it until after the sheriff finished off half of his own glass.

"So, tell me. What business does an outlaw from Nottingham have in my shire?"

So he did know. Robin drank part of the wine, relishing in the bold flavor. "My own."

Edmund sat down in one of the plush chairs, watching him. He took another drink. "Are you aware that you have a price on your head? Quite a good sum, if I recall. I could get more if I ransom you; no doubt the Sheriff of Nottingham would like you alive."

Robin held the glass in his good hand, his other edging into a fist. His throat felt dry despite the wine he had just had, and his chest was tight. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a good idea. He swallowed.

"You wouldn't get the ransom."

"True," Edmund agreed. "The reputation of Sheriff Vaysey is known further than he is aware of. Trying to ransom you would be too much of a hassle. I could have you hanged instead."

"You could," Robin agreed, "but you won't."

He was banking on the man's good favor. A risky gamble, but he had to try. Edmund was quiet, clearly thinking it over.

"I won't," he finally agreed, setting his glass down. "Unless I have to."

Robin frowned, looking at him. The sheriff explained.

"Alfred is a noble, of very high influence. The accusations you and the others bring against him are grave. Not only will I listen to the others, but I will also have to hear his side. And his word holds more value than those of a servant's, or an outlaw's for that matter."

"We have proof."

"I already know about the mines," Edmund got to the point. "I've known about them for years."

"And yet you've chosen to do nothing."

"Nothing could be done. Even now it is difficult. I cannot prove he was buying Christians. I cannot prove he was taking prisoners. And if he pays a ransom, I will have no choice. Not only that, but it will involve the Prince, and I do not want to draw any more of that pig's attention than necessary."

"So, your choice is to do nothing?" Robin wondered. "Allow him to leave, resume what he was doing before?"

"I need proof, beyond a doubt, that what you tell me is true. Something that he cannot argue with."

"Alfred is no fool; he would have left no proof behind." He realized this with a sinking feeling. He drank the rest of the wine, waving off the offer for more.

"Well, I will have more. It's a good night to get drunk," Edmund passed the empty glass to him which Robin obligingly filled.

"There must be something," he continued taking another drink. "If he was buying, then surely he would have papers. He would have to know for sure who he paid, or who still owed if he was in the business of selling."

"His sons were responsible for most of that; and their payment was not being forced to work in the mines."

"Are either of his sons here?" Edmund wondered. "If they speak against him, it would hold more influence."

"One is dead and the other has fled," Robin shook his head. He doubted Eloy would speak against his father anyway. Dax would, but the man would be speaking for no one now. He pushed the thoughts from his head.

"That does present a problem, now doesn't it?" Edmund raised an eyebrow, along with his glass. "My advice is to leave, the sooner the better. I will speak with Alfred in the morning, and it will not be long before he is free, I am afraid."

"You have the power to hold him," Robin pointed out. "Give us more time to find something."

"And risk the consequences?" Edmund laughed, shaking his head. "I would like to see him out of business just as you would. I cannot do that without proof. And if I keep him here, it would not bode well for me. He has the power to turn the other lords against me. Money talks, you see, and I will be voted out. Someone more favorable will take my place, and what will become of the mines then?"

"Give us more time," Robin persisted. "Stall, find a way. Take your time in speaking with the others, or claim something happened. Just give us more time. We will find something."

The sheriff finished the rest of his glass, seemingly disappointed the wine was gone. Carefully he set it down before looking up to meet Robin's gaze. "I can give you a full day, at the most. If you have nothing by then-"

"Then we leave, and we disappear," Robin nodded, knowing what the man was trying to tell him. Alfred would want revenge. But with any luck they would find what they needed, and this nightmare would be over.

**TBC**


	44. Documents

Thanks to Kegel for the beta :), as well as the reviews. Love seeing them.

* * *

**Chapter 44: Documents**

Robin had left the Sheriff of Exeter with a heavy heart. He knew the man spoke the truth, but couldn't help but feel as though he had been betrayed. It was a ludicrous thought for the man owed him nothing. Truthfully, Robin knew he should consider himself lucky he was leaving with his life, for Edmund had every right to hold him as an outlaw and ransom him to Sheriff Vaysey. Still, it did not make the knowledge of defeat any easier.

Nathaniel was still waiting up for him, not liking the fact they had been separated, and that concern was apparent in his eyes. Robin brushed that concern off and pulled the man to one side, informing him of what he had learned. There was anger in the man's eyes, his gaze darkening as Robin finished.

"I will kill him, Robin," Nathaniel warned, his hand drifting down to where his weapon was. Or at least, used to be. They all had been disarmed upon entering the castle. Still the threat was sincere, and Robin whole-heartedly believed it to be true.

"You will hang," Robin warned him.

"I will not allow him to live, I cannot."

"Alfred is still a noble; you will be charged with murder," he pressed again. "Think of Rhodri."

"I am thinking of Rhodri," Nathaniel protested. "What do you think will happen to all of us when Alfred gets out of here? You think Alfred will spare him because he is a child?"

"You have time to get away from here."

"You know that isn't true," he voiced what Robin already knew. Alfred had the means to track anyone down. And the man would find those responsible for his humiliation and make them pay. The truth was, he didn't know what they were to do.

"Help me," Nathaniel urged him just then, and Robin nodded. He was trying to think of what could be done, and voiced that thought to Nathaniel, but the man shook his head.

"No, help me kill him."

There was an edge of desperation to his voice. Robin could see the look in his eyes, and knew it all too well. It was the same look of desperation he had seen in Joe Lacey's eyes back when the man had attempted to kill the sheriff in retaliation for his lost wife. It was the look of a man who had nothing to lose. And that was a dangerous man.

"No," Robin shook his head, repeating his answer when the other began to protest. "No. Let me think this through. I will think of something, you must trust me."

He said the last part more forcefully in order to get him to listen. Still Robin was worried, for even now he had no idea of what could be done. The sheriff had already made it clear that Alfred would be released unless they came up with written proof that the man was doing what he was being accused of. Yet Robin had the suspicion that Alfred would have not left anything behind. He turned to Nathaniel, asking the man if he had seen anything, but Nathaniel merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I was not Alfred's assistant. I wouldn't know. If such documents did exist, I never saw them."

Robin had suspected as much. They could return, could search through Alfred's belongings, but that would take time. Time they did not have. Inwardly he cursed himself for not thinking of that matter before they had left Sherwell. How foolish could he be? Dax had even warned him some time ago that the sheriff would do nothing unless he had undeniable proof.

"Documents, you mean papers, right?" one of the men that had been listening to their conversation had just spoken up. Robin recognized him a moment later, Aston, who had been one of the guards that had ridden in with them. He was the man who had taken Alfred prisoner after Robin had shot him.

"Yes," Robin confirmed with a nod, a frown on his face as the man came forward. He was pulling something out of his jerkin, holding up a leather pouch which Nathaniel took and unwrapped carefully. He studied them briefly, and without word handed them over to Robin. He held the papers in the faint candlelight, reading the words and thumbing through them, all the while unable to believe what it was.

"Where did you get these?"

"Dax gave it to me a few days ago," Aston shrugged his shoulders. "Asked me to hang onto them."

"Why didn't you tell us about this?" Robin was still thumbing through the papers. There was an edge of anger to his voice. What would have happened had the man not overheard them at all? They would know nothing about it.

"I didn't know what they were, I don't read," he defended himself. A moment later his voice was curious, "What are they?"

"It's our ticket to freedom," Robin answered, tucking the papers away. He glanced at Nathaniel with a bit of a grin. "Care to pay a visit to the sheriff?"

* * *

It turned out that Dax had been keeping records of the mines for a little over a decade. The handwriting was poor, but legible, and it detailed transactions between him and his father. Robin knew that was only a small part of what had truly taken place, but it had been enough to convince Edmund.

Alfred was brought to the Great Hall and questioned, the transcripts read from the log and the man given time to deny it. Robin was surprised to hear he did not. In fact, according to the sheriff, the man confessed to all of it.

"He confessed?" Nathaniel was shocked, perhaps more than Robin. Robin had figured the man would deny all the accusations and thrust blame one someone else. That or lay claim to the fact he had been framed.

"That he did," the sheriff agreed, pausing in his meal to take a drink of wine.

Robin and Nathaniel were there, as were the rest of their group that had ventured to Exeter. It was by far the best meal Robin had in quite some time, and he suspected it was the best most of the others had ever seen. Edmund was a kind man, however, and Robin was quickly beginning to like him. He could tell Nathaniel did as well. And who could not at this moment, he wondered?

"Then he promptly tried to bribe me," the sheriff was now continuing on in his story.

They had not been present during the trial. Instead they had been allowed the freedom to wander the castle and the market, though hardly had taken the option. Robin had stayed to the castle, bound with fear and nervousness that something had not worked right. So when the master-at-arms had fetched him and invited them all to the feast, he had been relieved.

"Tell me you did not take it," Nathaniel pleaded. He was sitting to one side of the sheriff, Robin on the other so that they could carry their conversation without much effort. To Nathaniel's response, the sheriff laughed.

"If I had, you would be in the dungeons instead of here at the table. Alfred is angry with the both of you, though angry isn't quite the best word to use to describe his mood. He wants the both of you dead. I'm to understand that you are the one responsible for that arrow wound?"

This question was directed to Robin, who nodded. The sheriff laughed again, "You can with those fingers?"

Robin subconsciously moved his hand under the table resting it on one knee. He knew how bad his fingers looked; Nathaniel had reset the bones once more after the fight had taken place and still the ache from that had to die down. The man was confident they would heal in time as long as Robin took care. Robin wasn't as optimistic, and it was proven by Edmund's comment. Nathaniel spoke then, diverting the sheriff's attention for which Robin was grateful.

"Another one of Alfred's cruelties, which is why we need to know what will happen with him. He will hang, will he not?"

"I probably should," the sheriff admitted all the while shaking his head. "I gave him the option of banishment, or servicing the king in his war to make amends. He chose war, naturally."

Robin knew the man would. With banishment there was no coming back, but war held the opportunity to return, sometimes with honors. He did not quite like that idea, and suggested as much to the sheriff.

"Worry not, I already have in mind to see to it he does not return to power. Another will be promoted in his place and I will do my best to make sure the mines are known of, and it will be a fair and legal trade, not a slave quarry."

"You can't seriously send people back down there," Nathaniel was appalled, but Robin shook his head. He could understand the sheriff's reasoning. Yet there was one thing the sheriff did not know.

"The mines won't be operational, at least not for some time," he pointed out, and quickly explained all that had taken place. The sheriff seemed dismayed at the thought, but shortly after he shrugged it off.

"Might as well be for the best, I suppose. At any rate, Alfred's power here is lost. In the morning he will be on his way to support the crusades. I have a feeling he won't be returning, I doubt the man's ever fought in his life."

"And what of the others?" Nathaniel wondered. Robin knew he was referring to those that got away. Robin did not feel they were much of a threat; surely they would be long gone into another shire entirely, all of them looking for new work.

"If they are caught, they too will be tried, depending on their status. The rest are nothing more than outlaws; they will get what they deserve."

The sheriff answered this all the while oblivious to Robin's expression. He too was an outlaw, yet he was here feasting in the great hall like a common ally. In a way, Robin could surmise that the sheriff was indeed an ally. He already had expressed his distaste for Vaysey, and that was enough encouragement for Robin.

"So who will be the new lord there?" Robin wondered, taking a sip of wine.

"I have a number of good men to choose from," the sheriff responded in answer. He turned to meet Robin's gaze just then, "I was actually hoping that you would be."

He nearly choked, setting the cup down quickly. "You are aware that I am an outlaw?"

"So I'll give you a pardon," the man waved it off as no big deal. "You are a lord, are you not? So you will have no problems managing the estates, not to mention you hold no favor with Sheriff Vaysey and I know for a fact you support the king and not Prince John. You seem to be a perfect candidate to my liking."

"Not to mention the people will follow you," Nathaniel pointed out. "Once they know that their freedom was of your doing, they will no doubt worship you."

"They would do the same to you. And they know you better," Robin countered before turning back to the sheriff. "It is an honor-"

"But not one you will take," Edmund finished for him. He laughed then, shaking his head. "Don't look so surprised. I figured you might have other plans. If you had wanted to return to your previous title you would have done so long ago. I doubt you choose to live in the woods because you enjoy the cold weather. No, you have a much higher agenda."

"Locksley is my home, and I still have friends there. I cannot abandon them." It was sort of an apology. Yet he nodded to Nathaniel next.

"I meant what I said that the people would follow you. You out of all people have stood up against Alfred on more than one occasion. Plus you have shown them that you care. You would do well there."

"Me? A lord?" Nathaniel was shaking his head.

"You would do well," Robin pressed, looking towards the sheriff. The man's gaze was set hard, but after a moment the sheriff nodded.

"I will keep it in mind. But come, we will discuss business later. Let us eat."

* * *

With the help of the guards that had remained behind, Alfred's manor had been occupied by the once former slaves. The wounded were taken to the great hall under Eleri's instruction, beds being pulled from empty rooms and lined against the walls. Much had stayed by her side for a time, but eventually went off to the kitchens where he helped prepare food for the hungry. And what a feast it was.

Having nothing but grains and occasional fruit for the past months he was more than eager to help himself to a savory meal. Still he was one of the last to eat, so busy making sure the rest got food that he did not get a chance for himself until later that night.

There was pork, bread, cheese; everything his heart could desire. Still he reasoned that he would have been happy with anything for his stomach was protesting angrily at the lack of food. He ate quickly, despite Eleri's disapproval. She had eaten earlier that day so he reasoned she could have not been as hungry as he was and therefore she did not understand.

They slept that first night outside despite the fact there was room inside. Eleri had for so long yearned to be out in the fresh air that she wasn't willing to confine herself indoors just yet. Much had stayed with her even though he had been offered a real bed, something he hadn't slept in far longer he could even remember. The funny thing was that he didn't even mind. He was simply happy being near her.

The second day a number of the guards returned alone, prompting worry for a brief time. But the worry disappeared once the message was passed along. There was brief rejoicing, the knowledge that Alfred was gone from their lives, the fact they were all free. But that brought new worry; what was to happen to them all?

It was the following day that Eleri had asked him this. For the others he couldn't answer, but he knew what he wanted to say to her. Yet he was having trouble doing so. There was a lump in his throat, making his voice squeak in such an odd manner that she turned to look at him.

The pair was just outside the manor, having just finished tending to the wounded once more; Eleri was happy with the progress they were showing. Of course Alfred's extensive supply of herbs and medicine certainly helped, as well as her skill, he reasoned. They had been enjoying the warmth of the sun when she first presented the question. After all, it was a valid question. She had no home, at least no home she could go to, and Much assumed most of the others were facing a similar fate. They had been stolen away from their homes long ago, or sold into this dreadful occupation. Now that their former master was no longer there, they were confused about what to do.

Much had long dreamed of going away with her, of finding a place to live and start a family. That he assumed would be difficult. He wasn't sure exactly what he could do, or even where to start. Robin might know, but he gathered the man would simply laugh at him. Therefore the only option left was the obvious one.

"You could come with me," he suggested again, clearing his throat. This time his voice was more steady, not quite a squeak as it had been the time before.

"Go where?"

There was a hint of mirth in her voice. Much decided to ignore it, for although she hadn't agreed straight out like he had hoped, neither did she argue against it.

"Back to Nottingham, well to the forest," he explained, "My master and I, and some others, but mostly my master and I, fight against the sheriff there."

"You are outlaws," she nodded, remembering what he told her earlier. "And I would be one too if go there."

"Well yes, but we help others. Like you are doing here, but a little different, I guess. We make sure they have food, and money so that they can pay taxes. We have a camp, and…"

"Much," she cut him off with a sigh. "It sounds nice, but I don't want another master."

"Robin, he-Robin is not anyone's master," Much stuttered. That much was true. Robin had made him a free man. He followed Robin, called him master because he trusted him so. Or perhaps it was due to habit.

"And who is in charge of this little group of outlaws?" she wondered.

"Robin is, of course." Wasn't it obvious?

Again she shook her head. "I want to be my own person; I don't want to have to follow anyone's orders."

This was an answer he didn't like. He wanted her to agree, wanted her to come. "Well, it doesn't matter where you go, you will have to listen to someone."

She said nothing for a moment, quiet as she took what he said to consideration. Or maybe she was just ignoring him. Much was about to repeat himself when she answered.

"I could go just go off to the woods, be an outlaw. Then I wouldn't have to."

"But then we-" he started, but stopped himself. His cheeks were burning now as he turned away. How could he say it when he couldn't even think it?

"What?"

"We wouldn't be together," he forced himself to say, and then waited for the laughter. He waited for her to call him a fool, to say that idea would never work. She had said so before, when he spoke of other things she did not agree with.

"I guess I wouldn't like that," she stated instead. He looked up quickly and saw her smiling. Much couldn't help but join in.

"So, you will….come with me?"

"I guess if I have to listen to anyone…Robin is not a bad man."

Much was grinning now, a warm, glowing feeling spreading throughout his chest. She had said yes. Well, not quite yes, but as close as she would get to saying so. She was going to come back with them. Robin could not say no now, could he? He wouldn't say no, Much would not let him. And even if he did say no, Much would not listen, and he was sure Eleri would not either.

He turned then, as did Eleri at the commotion that was taking place. He could see the first of the group returning, the one that Robin had set out with. Much was glad to see them coming back, but soon his happiness wore off when he didn't see someone. The one someone that he had been waiting for. Robin was not amongst them

The earlier fear he had held, the reason why he had argued with Robin to not go, sprung back in his mind. His master rather enjoyed turning himself in if it meant he could bargain for others. Now he wondered if Robin had done so again in order to make sure Alfred was taken away. He was, after all, still an outlaw. Was he to hang? Was he waiting in the dungeons to be rescued? How long did they have? Would this be like the time before, where no one would want to help? He knew nothing of the dungeons here, there was no way he could get in. Or back out for that matter. Then an even worse thought sprang into his mind. What if Robin was already dead?

"It can't be," Eleri breathed next to him, her voice thin.

He was nodding in agreement, but frowned suddenly as he realized he hadn't said any of his thoughts out loud. How could she be agreeing with him? She couldn't read his thoughts….could she?

But Eleri wasn't watching him. She was watching the group as they neared. They were just passing the stables now, men dismounting from horses as the rest of the group who traveled on foot arrived. Eleri repeated herself, stumbling forward as if in a daze.

"Nathaniel?"

One of the men who had dismounted, a man Much was certain he had seen Robin with before, turned at the call. Eleri repeated herself again, more confidence in her voice. The man, who he guessed to be Nathaniel, shouted out her name. Much was confused; how did they know each other? Were they friends?

The next moment he felt his heart stop. They were running towards each other, latching onto one another with such force they nearly fell over. Even from here he could hear the cries, but what was worse he could see them, could see them holding one another with such determination as though they feared to lose one another.

Friends, good friends, could hold one another like that, he reasoned. It was nothing to be alarmed about. He should be happy that she found a good friend. Much tried to reassure himself that nothing was wrong. They would talk for a time, and then she would come back. She would go with him to Nottingham, to the forest…

Then they kissed. And Much felt his heart shatter. For he knew the truth, and he knew that they were more than good friends. And that meant there was no place for him.

* * *

They set out the next morning. Robin had once again spent most of the night speaking with the sheriff after the feast had been concluded. While Edmund had taken Nathaniel seriously he ultimately decided it would be better to wait for the bids to be placed. A new lord was not the only topic of discussion either. There was the problem of the many workers who were now without homes. Alfred's manor provided enough substance to support everyone for a few weeks, but no longer than that. Then there were the children to consider…

Sherwell still had fertile land. The land would be worked by those who chose to stay. For the children, Edmund had encouraged Robin and Nathaniel to find homes among those who had worked in the mines. For those who were left, they would be taken to the orphanage. While Robin wanted to help everyone, but he knew that he could not. However, there was one who still needed his help.

They had sent two messengers ahead the night before to relay all that had happened. Robin could remember the warning he had given Much and wanted to appease his worries. It would be nightfall again by the time they reached the village; their pace was far slower now than it had been before, but it was far more joyous.

Partway through the journey Robin had taken his leave. He would not tell Nathaniel where he was going despite the man's effort to find out. The group still needed a leader and Robin was confident to go on his own. Yet he relented when Nathaniel encouraged Aston to join him. Some company, he figured, could not hurt.

He had been there only once. Actually twice, but the second time he had been unconscious and so he figured that did not count. It took him some time to figure out exactly where he was and what direction he needed to go. If Aston suspected he was lost the man did not comment, merely following where Robin led. There was some talk exchanged between them and it had dwindled considerably when they reached the edge of the village. Robin stayed where he was for a moment before encouraging his horse to tread down the hill. How he hoped that he was right.

His apprehension wore off as he drew closer. Now he could see the small house, and the two people that were in front of it. And it didn't take long for the people to notice their approach. Already the boy was running, a grin on his face.

"You're alright!" Rhodri exclaimed coming to a stop near the fence. Robin reigned his horse in, and no sooner had he dismounted that he found the boy in his arms. It was a welcoming relief, not only that Nathaniel's son was unharmed, but that he was where Robin had first suspected. If he hadn't been here…

He didn't like to think of that possibility. Yet it had been the one reason he hadn't told Nathaniel what he was doing, although he rightly guessed the man had suspected what he was up to. Rhodri pulled away just then, locking eyes with Robin.

"My father?"

"He's fine too," Robin reassured him. There was noticeable relief in the boy's eyes and Robin mentally scolded himself. He should have said something sooner. The boy wouldn't have had any idea as to what had taken place. "We'll head back and see him soon," Robin encouraged.

He was no longer watching the boy. Rather his gaze was caught up with the other, the woman who had hung back. There was a smile on her face as she watched the reunion, but it was grim. Robin let out a sigh and turned back to look at Aston who had yet to move. Quietly he encouraged Rhodri to go to the other man, before going to meet the woman.

He hated this part; war had left him numerous opportunities to try and get used to it, but he never could. There were so many questions he couldn't answer, so many promises that were broken in one short moment. And this was no easier.

"Jane," he started, unsure of where to begin.

"He's dead, isn't he?" she cut him off. Robin was unsure of what to say, and so he just nodded instead.

Even he was still trying to come to terms with Dax's death. When he had first met the man he would have had no qualms in seeing him dead. He was, after all, the reason for Much's captivity, and ultimately all the misfortune that had followed soon after. Yet Dax had saved his life more than once in the short time they had known one another, had protected Much when things looked the most dire. He had placed his trust and confidence in Robin despite hardly knowing the man. And the truth was, Robin had grown to like the man during their short acquaintance.

It was Jane that had helped nurse him back to health after his torment at Latimer's and Mercer's hands. She had hidden him away at Dax's bidding even if she did not agree with it. That was why when he heard that Dax had taken Rhodri away, Robin had hoped the boy would be here. Dax would have taken him to the only person he trusted to keep him safe.

"You knew he would die?" Robin finally asked, trying to shake off the memories.

Jane pursed her lips, doing her best to fight the tears that were there. She had loved him, as much as Dax had confessed to loving her. It made this all that much harder. For what could he give? This was one pain he could not heal. Only time would do that.

"He said that if he did not return…" her voice trailed off, and she took a breath. "I was just hoping that maybe he was unable to travel. Foolish, I know."

"It's never foolish to hope," he reminded her. "If there is anything that I can do…"

"You will see that he's properly taken care of?"

He nodded. Dax was not the only fatality that had taken place that day. There would be more than one grave that needed to be dug. Robin figured the others had already started, but he would see to it that Dax was given proper respect.

"Then that is enough for me."

**TBC**


	45. Chances

Thanks to Kegel for the beta

* * *

**Chapter 45: Chances**

Daylight was starting to fade and a chill was settling in the air, reminding him that winter was not too far behind. It was a shocking realization, almost, on how much time had passed since he had set out to come this way. He thought of the others back in Sherwood, on how they were doing. Did they wonder about him?

Robin knew that when he had left them that he could be gone for some time. Yet he hadn't expected for it to be this long. And it would be longer still if he could not find the man. He cursed at that idea softly, before raising his voice once more, calling out.

Robin had stayed with Jane only a short time, offering what little comfort he could. It was difficult, he hardly knew Dax, having only worked with the man a short time. What exactly could he say to appease her hurts? Robin shook his head as he moved further into the forest.

There was nothing he could say. So he had left with a heavy heart, not only from what had happened, but carrying the knowledge of what he must do. Reuniting Rhodri with his father was only one thing. He would also have to find a way to tell Nathaniel about Eleri, and all without breaking Much's heart. The thought had troubled him, turning his stomach and making him nervous beyond memory. He could not say nothing, but what exactly could he say?

That dilemma was solved for him however. He should have been relieved that the two had found one another. That the task which would surely hurt his friend was no longer his responsibility. But it had been followed shortly by apprehension. He had not seen Much among the group.

There had been a short reunion, Robin doing his best to be happy for the pair as they both spoke to him. Robin feigned innocence as best as he could, forcing a smile at the couple. Yet when he asked about Much, Eleri simply shook her head. He had not been seen within the last hour.

And now another hour had passed, an hour spent searching the grounds before Robin had turned towards the forest. It was still early in the evening, but it would be dark soon due to the changing seasons. And cold; he wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering slightly. Where could he be?

He didn't like the thought Much had come out here on his own. To wander the forest back home was one thing, but here it was different. There was no doubt in Robin's mind that Much was upset. The man would be distracted, and that was dangerous. A number of Alfred's men had fled to the forest after the battle had gone ill. Robin hoped desperately they had kept on running, but that could not be proven. And that was why he had to find the man.

Robin called out again, his voice echoing in the empty air around him. Maybe he had missed the man back at the manor? It was a large place, after all, with quite a lot happening. It would have been easy to miss someone there. But Robin knew it was unlikely that this was indeed the case; he had spoken with nearly everyone there and none could remember having seen the man he had asked after. So the forest it had to be...but that was even larger than the manor. And this was not Sherwood; neither he nor Much knew it very well.

He heard the sounds then, hand falling to his dagger even as he turned. While he hoped it was indeed Much finally answering his endless calls, he also knew there could be more than one man wandering this forest. Robin pulled the small weapon free, clutching it with his good hand. But a moment later he sheathed it.

"Much?" he called out to the other man, feeling relief for the first time that night. Much did not turn, nor did he slow when Robin called out after him, walking away from him as well as the manor, heading further into the forest. Robin called a second time before letting out a sigh, and started to follow.

Much was not moving fast, allowing Robin to close the gap easily. He was a few paces behind now, calling out to the man again to stop even as he jumped over a fallen log, stumbling as he did so. He had been so preoccupied on catching the man he had failed to notice the branches that grew out from under the wood. He first stumbled, before falling completely.

He caught himself on the wet ground, softened by the previous rains, but the impact was still unexpected. A sudden cry escaped his lips as he braced himself with his hands, the response automatic and jarring his fingers that were still trying to heal. The pain was sharp, sudden and fleeting, dying down to a throb shortly after. He winced, letting out a curse even as the hand fell on his shoulder, and then on his arm.

"Master?" Much had come back for him, helping him to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he nodded, rubbing his hand briefly. He turned his attention to Much then as he wiped the mud from his clothes. "The real question is: Are you alright?"

The man turned away, shaking his head. "It's not fair," he said after a moment. "She was going to come back with us. She was going to come back with me. I asked her to...and she said yes."

To this, Robin grimaced. It would have been easier had Much not said anything. He would always wondered what she would have said, but to know she was willing, and to not have it happen... Robin shook his head.

"I'm sorry, my friend."

He didn't know what else to say. Other than the fact he knew how Much was feeling. He knew what it was like to love someone you could truly never have. Robin told him as much, but the man shook his head.

"You can't understand. How could you? You always get what you want," he pointed out, bitterness in his voice. He stood now with his arms crossed, watching Robin. "Even now, when we go back home, you'll have Marian. I'll have no one."

"That is not true," his tone was firm, waiting until the other man met his gaze. "You'll have the rest of us, for starters. And I am being honest when I say I know what you are going through."

Much shrugged his shoulders, turning away as he muttered something under his breath. Robin missed what was said, but the implication was obvious to follow. He let out a sigh of his own, trying to piece together his words.

He had long ago promised himself not to think of her. That she was gone from his life. Yet that promise was broken almost each and every day. The harder he tried to banish her from his thoughts, the more persistent they were. And up until now he had stayed silent about it, all except to one person, and that person had been Will. A moment of weakness on his part had brought about the conversation, and Robin had made the man swear to keep his silence. And now, Robin was about to tell another.

"I have about as much a chance with Marian as you do with Eleri," he finally said.

To this, Much laughed. "Right; at least she is not married."

When Robin said nothing, Much's expression hardened as he meet his gaze. "She is not married..."

Robin turned away, shrugging. "If she is not yet, she soon will be." In truth, Robin expected a speedy wedding. They had made it to the alter once before, no doubt Gisborne would want to repeat that as quickly as possible before Marian changed her mind once again. But Marian had been determined to see it through. And this time, Robin had not been around to try and put an end to it.

"But how? And to whom?"

Robin turned back to the man, raising an eyebrow. "Who do you think?"

"Gisborne?" Much was shaking his head. "You can't be serious!"

Robin was nodding his head the entire time. "You remember when I was hurt?" he brushed one hand against his head where he had taken a heavy blow some time ago. He had been foolish, had been caught off his guard. The blow had left him without any memories, and somehow he had become entangled in a lie fabricated by the sheriff and Gisborne.

Much nodded, no doubt remembering better than he. Robin had nearly taken his life, having been convinced that Much was working against him. It was an act that still haunted his dreams, intermingled with the nightmares from war.

"Marian was able to find out what was happening, but only because she agreed to be his wife."

And indeed she had. It was through her help that they were able to bring him back around. To help sort out the confusing jumble of memories that plagued him. To help him remember who he truly was. But it had come at a price. And once he had been able to understand it, he had begged her to reconsider. Marian had been stubborn as ever.

Much was watching him. "But you can stop it? When the king comes home?-"

"It will not matter," Robin shook his head, cutting him off. "What has been done is already done."

"But-" he faltered, frowning as Robin shook his head again. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It would not change anything," came the simple response. That was his own problem, not something he needed to burden everyone else about. "It will get easier," he added. That part he could only hope he was right about. It had not gotten any easier for him yet, but he had to hope it would. What else was there to do? He shivered again, the air growing colder as the light slipped away.

"We should be going," Much said quietly. Robin nodded, turning to lead the way. He was pleased to see the man follow. He doubted Much was ready to face the others again, but neither did he want to spend a night out here, not with the warmth of the manor waiting for them.

"I forgot about dinner," Much mentioned quietly as they walked. To this, Robin smiled. He too hadn't eaten yet and the thought of food was a welcoming one. Yet the smile came more from the fact Much was starting to sound more like himself.

"Good food, a warm fire...real beds. I will miss it when we leave," he continued sullenly. "Not that I don't like it in the forest with you, but the manor is so nice..."

"It is," Robin mused quietly. He could remember back when he and Much had left the Holy Land. Much could think of nothing else but the food and comfort that awaited him at Bonchurch. The man had spoken of nothing else. The thought pained him a little, glancing over his shoulder at Much.

He had promised the man the lodge, had promised to make him a free man. Yet every action of his had led Much from bad to worse. He had led him into outlawry, had nearly killed him once, and the life they led had resulted in Much ending up here; as a slave. What else would he lead the man to? He let out a sigh.

"A man could make a good life here," he said quietly.

"I guess so."

"A good man," Robin stopped and turned towards him. "You could stay."

"Stay?" Much echoed. "Me? Stay here?"

He hated the thought, but another part of him knew that a chance like this would most likely not come again. Robin swallowed as he nodded.

"The sheriff offered me a pardon," he went on to explain.

"That is good," Much was suddenly excited. "We could both stay here! It will be like before, well not quite like before, I guess, but sort of the same-"

"Much," Robin cut him off gently. "I did not take the offer."

"But why?"

"I have a responsibility, back in Locksley. The others are waiting for me. I cannot just abandon them."

"Then bring them here," he offered, as though the solution was obvious.

"And who will take care of the people?"

Much was silent to this, turning away with a shrug. Robin reached over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I promised you many things, my friend, and nothing has not worked out as I imagined. I know this place is no Bonchurch, but it is still a good place. I can get a pardon for you from the sheriff, you would be a free man here."

"And you?" Much wondered quietly.

Robin shrugged. "I will return to Locksley."

"You would go without me?"

"I would be good knowing you are safe, and happy," he added. The truth was he hated the idea of leaving the man behind. Much was one of his oldest friends, having met the man shortly after his mother had passed. It had been a wound, an empty space the man had filled. It was difficult to think of going on without him. Yet Robin knew that sometimes letting go was one of the best things to do, if not the hardest.

"Master, I don't know-"

"You do not have to make a decision now," he pressed gently. "Just think about it."

* * *

Chaffee had not come to him that night, nor the following day. The sheriff let it pass, too gleeful to care, as he thought everything over in his head. Oh, how he would gloat, strut around and point out that the prince's favorite had been been wrong. That Chaffee had made a mistake. He visualized the scene, reciting the words he would say over and over again. Oh, what a glorious feeling!

He had not been in this good of spirits since Chaffee's arrival. The new man had been nothing but irksome. Always strutting about as though he was the one in charge simply because he had been sent by the prince. And now he had failed.

Vaysey also had wasted no time in preparing a letter to the prince as well. He detailed carefully all that had taken place. On how the outlaws had been caught by him, and on how he had wanted to hang them all. Vaysey further explained that it was Chaffee who had spared them, and that their escape was due to the man's own doing. Once finished, he reread the letter again, and a third time, all the more glowing with pride at his idea.

No doubt the man would be humbled, punished in fact! The prince would not let such an act go unpunished, obviously. Vaysey would do his best to point out that fact as well. Let Chaffee worry himself over what would happen. It gave him cause to smile.

The third day came and still there was no word from Chaffee. He was growing agitated. Chaffee knew of what happened. Vaysey sent the word out that same day. He expected a response. Personally he did not like the idea of having to go and fetch the man. Had it been Gisborne, the man would have been here in the room the moment the dungeons were found empty. Why should he, the sheriff, be chasing down his own men?

Finally, at dawn of the fourth morning, he called to his guards. He would be traveling to Locksley today, and personally give the man a piece of his mind. He dressed, prepared himself for travel, and took the letter with him. He hadn't sent it out yet, was going to wait until he taunted Chaffee with it. He wanted to see the man's expression when he waved the parchment in his face.

He rode in the carriage. There was no way he was traveling on horseback, not with Hood's men and possibly Hood himself running amuck. Not to mention Gisborne...heavens knew where he even was. No, it was safer like this, sheltered in the confines of the carriage as they made their way to Locksley. Or Chaffee, as the new master-at-arms liked to call it. Though Vaysey refused to address it at such.

He wasn't about to give Hood any credit for the land, but neither would he bend to the wishes of Chaffee. The thought amused him as they drew near. A few minutes later he found himself entering the manor, scowling in distaste. He had forgotten how disturbingly elaborate it was in here now.

"Ah, sheriff," Chaffee motioned for him to join. He was seated at the table, filling out papers. His quill scratched without falter, the man not even bothering to look up.

"I do say it is good to see you in good health," the sheriff remarked. He strode into the room, moving to sit down. "Considering you did not respond to my earlier request to join me at the castle."

"Shoes," Chaffee reminded him, a reminder that Vaysey chose to ignore. He walked across the rugs, not caring what debris he might leave behind. He would be taking no orders from the man now.

Chaffee frowned at him with disapproval, dipping his quill back into the inkwell. "I have been busy," the man remarked, "and you will pay for any damages."

Vaysey laughed. "Damages are the least of my concern, as far as your furnishings are considered. Rather I worry more about the damages caused by outlaws on the run, don't you agree?"

"Of course," Chaffee nodded, "what has it been? Four days, and still you have not caught zem?"

"Me?"

"Zey did escape from your dungeons. Zerefore it is your responsibility to catch zem once more."

Of course they had escaped from his dungeons. They were the only ones in Nottinghamshire. Where else would they have been locked up? Under Locksley Manor? The sheriff would have laughed had he not been so appalled.

"If we had hanged them, this would not be a problem."

"Yet your problem it is," Chaffee pointed out. "Zey were under your charge. And you were giving orders to keep zem locked up. Yet zey escape. Please tell me how zis is possible?"

Was Chaffee really trying to blame all of this on him? Vaysey scowled. But then he smiled as he reached into his pocket. He had almost forgotten about this, almost. "Perhaps the prince will like to know what has happened."

"Indeed. I already have sent John a letter of your failure. So your answer better be good," the man warned.

"What?!" he could hardly believe what he had heard. He held his own letter in his hand, worry filling him followed shortly by anger. He should have sent this off at the first moment he had. He should have known Chaffee would place the blame on him. And now Chaffee's own letter, filled with lies no doubt, was already on its way. He could still send his own, he reasoned, but which would the prince believe?

"Find out how zey escaped, punish who is necessary, and we will reinforce ze earlier proclamation. All zose who help ze outlaws shall be punished, and if caught, zey shall be rewarded. Ze outlaws have reservations in the dungeons, I would so hate for zem to miss out."

"Me?" Vaysey shook his head, scowling. "And exactly what will you be doing?"

"Damage control," Chaffee replied mildly. "What I have been doing since I first arrived. A full report on everyzing zat has happened for ze prince. An important factor in his final decision."

"Final decision? Decision on what?"

"On whether or not you are capable on fulfilling your duties as sheriff. And so far, zis incident has not helped you at all."

"My duties?" he was shocked. He had been nothing but loyal to the prince. Done everything the man had sent him out to do. True, Hood's interference kept most of the taxes from ever making it out of the shire, but still, that could hardly be his fault, could it? Surely the prince had to realize this, and he was about to point it out, but Chaffee interrupted him.

"If I were you, I would be concentrating on ze outlaws," the man warned him. "Oh, and you will pay for ze damages; next time you will remove your shoes."

* * *

Upon returning to the camp, they had slept. There had been no need to discuss that matter. The simple act of escaping and fleeing to the forest had worn them all out. Before it would have been no difficultly, but being so long in the dungeons had sapped them of their strength.

Camp was empty; cold and uninviting. A thin layer of dust covered most of the items there, a signal that no one had been there for some time. It was a disheartening find, but hopeful at the same time. No one had found the camp despite the fact the forest had been crawling with guards just a few days earlier. But it also meant that Robin had not returned.

Will already knew that part was true. Had he been back already he would have found a way to let them know. Robin may have not been able to rescue them alone, but he wouldn't have simply kept himself hidden. So seeing he was not here was no surprise, but it didn't comfort him any. It meant one of two things; either he was still gone, or he was in fact dead.

Either thought could be true. Robin had had no idea where he was going, or what he was going up against. Someone should have gone with him; this thought he voiced to Djaq.

"Then whatever happened to him would have happened to you," she answered. "And what would have happened to the rest of us if you were not here?"

They were sitting near the fire, cooking something to eat. It was little more than a coney they had managed to snag. Most of the food they had stored had gone bad. The nuts and berries had held well enough, but with winter coming they needed to do their best to preserve them. Game was scarce during this season, and normally they had stocked up by now. But their time in the dungeons had prevented them from doing so.

"You don't know that," he answered. They had been awake for close to an hour. Allan and John had been the ones responsible for the coney, and even now they were out hunting, trying to catch what they could. Whatever meat they could find would be dried to carry them through the winter as best as possible. They had to be tired; Will knew he was.

He had helped Djaq clean the place up. Even now camp sat open, airing out the mustiness that occurred during their time away. Some parts of the roof needed repairing, and it was obvious to see parts of the camp where rodents had chewed at the wood, no doubt intrigued by the smell of food inside. That too would have to be fixed given time.

"We do not even know if he is gone," Djaq continued. "My father told me once that just because you hear nothing, does not mean it is bad. Sometimes it is good. He could be coming home, just now. We would not know."

To this he nodded. They had no idea of what was happening. But Robin would surely try and let them know if he was okay, wouldn't he?

"You do not believe me though," she noted. He gave her a shrug.

"Death is a part of life," he explained, remembering his mother. "And if he is gone...I don't know what to do."

"We do what he would have done," she answered simply. "It is what I did. I live as my brother, because he cannot live for himself. That way he is never truly gone. And we will do the same here."

He turned to her, nodding just then. He supposed she had a point. Robin had wanted them to stay behind to take care of the people. He had trusted them to carry on in his place. And so they would. He let out a smile, liking the idea even more.

"We will be him then, we'll do what he would have wanted."

"Yes, we will be," she agreed, then corrected herself. "We are Robin Hood."

"We are Robin Hood," he echoed. Nottingham still needed Robin Hood; and they would do their best to see that he lived on.

* * *

"When will you leave?"

Robin rubbed his eyes as he tried to fight off a yawn. He had done his best these last few days to get his rest, but there was always so much to do. Things were slowly starting to calm down, the sick and wounded were finally on the mend, and once former slaves were starting to find homes. Most of the children had been taken in, Nathaniel and Eleri even taking one in. Her name was Rosa, a child about Rhodri's age who had been a kitchen girl. The two had become instant friends and even now were out playing somewhere.

"By the end of the week," he answered finally. That was only in a few days. He would have stayed longer, wanted to, if it hadn't been so long already. Only the day before he had traveled back to Exter, had spoken with the sheriff who had agreed to give Much a pardon if the man so chose to stay. Yet Much hadn't said another word about it to him.

Rather the man had been with Eleri, and what exactly he had been up to was a mystery but Robin wouldn't question any of it. That was Much's own matter and it was private until the man chose to share.

"I wish you would stay," Nathaniel answered, setting a cup down in front of him. Robin thanked him quietly, but made no move to drink any. It was not the first time the man had pressured him to stay.

"I have other business."

"For an outlaw you do have quite the agenda," Nathaniel remarked with a laugh. He sat down across from Robin with a cup of his own, no doubt enjoying the wine. He took a few sips before setting it down.

"I can't thank you enough for everything you've done. Not just for exposing Alfred, but for everything...Rhodri I mean. And for Eleri."

Robin simply nodded. The man had thanked him at every turn, would go on thanking him forever if given the chance. It caused him to smile. He was glad it had worked out for the both of them. And so far it seemed as though Much was handling it okay.

"Although, I am curious about one thing."

"Which is?"

"You never seemed quite so surprised when I introduced you to Eleri. She did tell me that you two had already met, so that is not what I mean. Rather you weren't surprised to learn that she was my wife...despite the fact I told you she had died."

Robin bit his lip, meeting the man's gaze. He hadn't said anything about that. Had been afraid of what the man would say if he knew Robin had kept it all a secret. After all, how would he feel if the same was done for him?

"You knew, didn't you?"

"I had a strong suspicion," he agreed quietly.

"That was the real reason you wanted to know her name that night. It wasn't because you wanted a distraction. You were trying to piece it together."

He knew the night Nathaniel was speaking of. It had been shortly after he had been beaten. Suffering from the onset of a fever, from a variety of aches and pains he had begged for the distraction. But Nathaniel was right; he had simply been following his own curiosity, trying to find out if he was right.

"And yet you said nothing?"

"Would you have even believed me?" Robin wondered. "And if you did, what would you have done?"

Nathaniel sat quiet for a moment before answering. "I probably would have not believed you; not at first. I have been living with that lie for many years, my friend. You may as well have told me that I was King, and I would have dismissed it as a delusion, brought on by the fever. But once I found out you were telling the truth? I probably would have gone after her. And I would have gotten myself killed."

Robin nodded. He knew that was how it would have happened. It was why he chose to say nothing at that time. He changed the topic just then.

"What will the two of you do?"

"Stay here," he answered. "I doubt our home is waiting for us at any rate. And here at least we have the sheriff's protection. The new lord he chose, I have not heard of him before, but he is supposed to be a fair man. We'll start a new life here, Eleri and I will both work as physicians. It is good work."

Robin nodded, knowing the much was true. A physician, a good one, could make a decent life. He was glad to hear of it, about to say so, but turned as someone else entered.

Much stood in the doorway, pausing as he saw Robin. The man hadn't been avoiding him these last days, but neither had he been directly seeking him out. Robin invited him over to join, and the man stepped hesitantly into the room as if worried by something.

"What is it?" Robin's hand fell on his weapon. They had not seen any of Alfred's men within these past days, despite search parties being sent out. Still, that did not mean that they would not return. And he was worried that might be the case.

But Much shook his head, clearing his throat. "I just, I came..." he faltered again.

"What's wrong?"

Nathaniel asked this time, moving to his feet. Much nodded suddenly, taking a deep breath. He looked briefly at Robin, before turning to Nathaniel.

"I'm going to stay."

**TBC**


	46. Epilogue

**Here's the last part, finally finished with this long long story. Many thanks to Kegel for the beta.**

**Can we break 300 reviews? Maybe! If you are reading give a quick review!**

* * *

**Epilogue**

He was slow to pack his things, even though he was eager to return. He missed the others, he missed Marian, no matter what choice she had made. Even the thought of seeing her did make any of this easier.

The truth was he had not expected for Much to stay. Which was hypocritical of him considering he had been the one to offer the option to Much, the very person to plant the thought in his mind. By offering the man the choice, surely Robin had to expect the man might agree to it.

He had forced a smile when the man first told him. It was enough to fool Much, for the man had sighed in relief, admitting he had been nervous about Robin's response. He had done nothing but reassure the man, but later that night he had almost wept. And today, he felt like he might actually do so.

Earlier he had pushed it from his mind as best as he could, trying to convince himself it was some sort of cruel dream. Now, on the day he was prepared to go home, there was no way he could ignore it. It would be easier to simply leave. To not face any of them, but that was not something he could do. And so he packed the rest of his things before leaving the room.

There was plenty of supplies Nathaniel had given him. Fresh clothes, provisions of food and water, even some silver and gold that he could use to trade and barter on his route home. There was nothing he was left for wanting, except that which could not be filled. The emptiness inside of him.

"You are ready?"

It was Nathaniel that greeted him at the bottom of the stairs. Robin gave him a nod, the man pulling him into an embrace.

"Thank you for all you have done," he said again. "I won't ever forget you, and if you ever come by, you are most welcome to stay."

"Thank you," Robin replied. He pulled away, and followed the man outside. The sun was already high, signaling that he had waited longer than he had wanted. Not that it mattered, he decided. He would get back to Sherwood soon enough.

Eleri was next to come up to him; she spent most of her time outside, a trait he could not hold against her. After all that time below he too would not want to leave the fresh air. He did not know the woman as well as Much or Nathaniel, but they embraced just the same. She pulled away quicker than Nathaniel had, a smile on her face.

"I was wrong about you," she admitted. "You are not so bad."

To this he laughed, "I appreciate that." He knew she didn't approve of him. She had made that clear more than once. He knew she tolerated him for all that he had done, and because of Much. And for her to admit what she had was a big step for her.

"Do you really have to go?" Rhodri wondered. He had been standing near his mom, something he was sure the boy was still trying to accept. He knelt down so that he was eye level with the child, and spoke to him gently.

"I belong somewhere else, just like you belong here," he explained.

"You have a family, too?"

Robin nodded. "Of sorts. And I am sure they miss me as I do them."

"But I'll miss you," Rhodri wrapped his arms around his neck. Robin held the child close; he too would miss the boy. Yet he was glad the child would be able to live with both his parents, and a new sister as well. He would have a chance at a life that should have been his from the beginning.

"You keep practicing with the bow," Robin changed subjects, pulling away. "You're a natural."

"You think so?" He was excited. Robin laughed, noting the eagerness in his voice. Rhodri reminded Robin so much of himself at that age.

"You will make a fine bowman, one day."

He looked up as another approached. Much stood further away from the group, but Robin wasted no time in moving to his feet, and pulling the man into an embrace. The tears from earlier were threatening now, and he did his best to hold them at bay.

"I will miss you," Robin told him quietly. He would miss him more than he could ever say. He was partly angry with himself, angry that he had even suggested the idea. Much would be coming home with him had he said nothing. But at the same time, he knew Much deserved this.

"We will see each other again," Much answered. "Won't we?"

"Perhaps," Robin was doubtful. Nottingham was a long ways away, and there was no telling if he would travel this far south again. The likelihood they would see one another again was slim. But he did not voice this thought. Instead he nodded, pulling away.

"One day, we will," he promised instead. There was no reason to leave the man with guilt. He would be happy here, given time. That was more than what Robin could offer him back in Sherwood.

"Farewell, my friend," they were simple words, so easy to say, but so hard all the same. He clasped Much's hand one last time, before turning away. It was easier if he did not look back.

He kept his head down, traveling along the road that led into the forest. He would stay on the road for some time, before moving to the back country. Roads were dangerous for an outlaw. But with steady travel, Robin surmised he would be back in Sherwood in just over a week. The journey back would be quicker than the one here, simply because he knew where he was going.

Robin was nearly to the forest when the call came. He turned, frowning as he watched Much scramble down the hill after him. Twice the man almost fell, only to catch himself, still calling out for the man to wait even though Robin hadn't taken another step.

"What is it?" he wondered, the man finally catching up.

Much was doubled over, breathing heavily as he shook his head.

"I was just thinking," he sputtered in between breaths.

"Yes?"

"Well, about the others. I mean, who is going to cook?"

"I think we can manage," Robin laughed mildly. It was true that Much did most of the cooking, but that did not mean the rest of them could not.

"I've seen Allan cook," Much argued; he was still holding his side, but now he straightened a little. "It is not good."

"You do have a point," Robin agreed, remembering the last meal Allan had cooked. From then on, Much had refused to cook anything if the man was even near the kitchen. "But the rest of us can cook."

"Maybe," Much agreed. "But then I started to think about Bonchurch. I mean, when the king returns, who will take care of it?"

To that, Robin shrugged. He wasn't even sure what was to happen when the king returned. He had his speculations, but that was all they were.

"And then there's you," Much continued, not even waiting for Robin to answer the last question. To this, Robin frowned.

"What about me?"

"Who's going to take care of you?"

"Much," Robin let out a sigh, "I can take care of myself."

"Well, you and I both know that isn't true," the man sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. "I guess I don't have a choice, I have to go back."

He took off, taking the lead, following the path to the right. Robin found himself laughing. "Much-"

"No," Much cut him off, shaking his head. "Don't you try and talk me out of it. You can't change my mind, there simply isn't another way."

"Much," Robin tried again, only to be cut off once more.

"I've seen you try and take care of yourself, and it isn't pleasant, for either one of us," he indicated towards Robin. He turned back, continuing forward.

"Much."

The man turned this time, more due to the fact Robin had raised his voice. Robin tilted his head towards the other direction.

"Locksley is that way."

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Right. I knew that."

Robin could only shake his head as Much changed directions, now following the road that led to the left. He turned back around, giving a quick wave to the pair that still watched from the top of the hill. Then with a smile, and a lighter heart, he turned back to follow.

"Much, will you wait for me?" he called out after the retreating form.

It was going to be a long walk home. He was looking forward to it.

**The End**

* * *

**Here is summary of the next story that will be coming soon:**

**Bittersweet**

**Robin's return to Sherwood brings hope, but how long can it last? Chaffee, the new master-at-arms controls the populace through fear, and even Sheriff Vaysey finds himself at a loss. In order to help his people, Robin knows Chaffee must go. But that is easier said than done, and Robin soon finds himself allied with old foes.**


End file.
